Masters of the Game
by Natchez
Summary: Flynn and Raydor find the game is changing in the LAPD - and between them. M mostly for safety and possibly, future chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Down and Out

**A/N:** This really belongs in the "Major Crimes" category, but until FF posts one... Anyway, Flynn and Raydor are masters at avoiding relationships - most of the time. By special request for a new timeline story with a little angst in the romance. Enjoy, and **please** R&R (that's "read and review" for any newbies on the board).

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**Chapter 1: Down and Out**

"Lieutenant Provenza, where is Lieutenant Flynn? Have you seen him this morning?" Captain Sharon Raydor was more annoyed than concerned, although Lieutenant Flynn was generally prompt and had not missed a day of work since she was named the head of Major Crimes.

Provenza looked up from his newspaper. "No Captain, I haven't seen him. He hasn't called in." Provenza checked his cell. "Nope, no calls from him all weekend, come to think of it. That's kind of unusual."

Raydor's face now mirrored more concern. "Can you try to reach him?"

Provenza nodded. "Sure, Captain." He called Andy's cell, but there was no answer. A text also went unanswered. "Captain, this is a little weird. How about I go check on him?"

"Good idea. And I'll go with you. Lieutenant Tao, you're in charge." Tao nodded.

"I'm a little worried, Lieutenant. This is not like him."

"No it's not," Provenza agreed.

* * *

Provenza knocked on the door to Andy's apartment, but there was no answer. He knocked harder. Still nothing. "Dammit Flynn, what's going on?" he said, and produced a key.

"You have a key to his place?" Raydor asked.

"And he has one to mine. For just such occasions." Provenza unlocked the door. "Flynn! Flynn! Where the hell are you?" he yelled.

A pause, then a slurred voice, "Who wants to know?"

"_I_ do, asshole! Where the hell have you been?" Provenza snapped, then turned the corner into the den. Flynn was sprawled in his recliner, in a T-shirt and his underwear, sporting a three-day growth of beard and bleary eyes. The smell of alcohol was strong where a nearly empty bottle of bourbon had tipped over and the liquid had leaked into the carpet.

Provenza's mouth dropped open. Flynn was drunk. After 15 years of cherished, dearly held, fought-for sobriety, he was drunk. What the hell had happened? Few things would move Louis Provenza to tears, but the sight of his partner and friend, wrecked and drunk was one of them. Fiercely, he blinked back the moisture from his eyes, and found Andy's cell on the side table.

"What're you doing?" Flynn slurred.

"Calling your sponsor, jackass." He found the number and dialed it.

"I don't need my sponsor."

"The hell you don't." Provenza waited. "Hi, Gary? Louis Provenza, Flynn's partner. I don't know what happened, but he's here in his apartment, drunk off his ass. He was fine Friday night. Can you come over here? Thanks." He looked at Flynn. "He'll be here in 15 minutes. At least you didn't try to drive."

Throughout this exchange, Sharon Raydor stood in shock. She knew Andy was a long-time AA member. He didn't hide it – was very open about it, in fact. What could have happened? Well, the first thing to do was to keep this out of the LAPD rumor mill. She well knew that department gossip appeared out of thin air and multiplied spontaneously. She did know she could count on the Major Crimes crew to stay quiet about it. They were as fiercely loyal a squad as she had ever seen. They also knew Flynn's history.

She walked over to him. "Lieutenant Flynn? We've been worried about you," she said.

He lolled his head over and saw her. "Well, well. Captain Raydor! I'm touched that you care. That's a surprise."

"Don't pay any attention to him, Captain. He's an even bigger horse's ass when he's drunk than when he's sober," Provenza said.

"Shut up, old man. I'd forgotten how nice it feels to just, you know, not feel anything."

Provenza snorted, "Until that hangover kicks in. Dammit Flynn, what happened?"

"Why do you care? Not your business."

Provenza looked at Sharon. "And that's the other thing. Flynn is a mean, cynical drunk. He's not sloppy or sad. Just mean as hell."

"Sounds like it," Raydor replied. "Well, he's obviously in no shape to come in to work, so this can be a sick day, but what now? We can't afford this."

"I know, Captain. When Gary gets here, I'm sure he'll have some ideas. I'm really hoping this is just a transient thing. A blip on the radar."

"I certainly hope so, too. We don't need to lose one of our senior officers."

Flynn looked over at Sharon. "If you stay here, you won't lose me at all. You'll know right where I am, hot stuff." He gave her a red-eyed leer.

Provenza closed his eyes in misery. That was the other thing about Flynn when he was drunk: he was a horndog.

Raydor's eyes widened. "Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

"C'mon, Captain. You can't look in your mirror every morning and not see how damn hot you are. Take off that bitch armor and drop the ice princess thing for me and I'll give you a night to remember." His voice was boozy, but the lust was there, nevertheless.

A host of feelings flooded Sharon: outrage, amusement and finally, a thrill that he thought she was hot. It had been a long time since a man – even a drunk one – had complimented her as a woman.

"He'll apologize when he sobers up, Captain. I promise he will," Provenza said miserably.

"Apologize? What the hell for? What woman doesn't want to know she's sexy? Tell me that."

"Flynn, shut up. Just shut up," Provenza said. "You're making bad matters worse."

"Well, I didn't _ask_ you to come in here, now did I? Can't a man have a private bender once in a while?"

Provenza said, "Captain, let's go wait on Gary. Flynn's impossible when he's like this. I'd forgotten just how impossible."

When Flynn's sponsor arrived, he looked sad. "Thanks for calling me, Provenza. I knew Andy hadn't been doing great emotionally, but he was getting to meetings and calling me, so I thought he was dealing with his problems."

"What's been going on with him? He hasn't said much to me!" Provenza exclaimed.

"You know how Andy hates change, and all this with Chief Johnson and a new department head and some of the cases you've worked recently… I guess it just overwhelmed him. But better to find out now before it really gets out of hand."

"Gary, this is Captain Sharon Raydor, the new head of Major Crimes."

"Nice to meet you, Captain. I can tell you for a fact that Andy has maintained his sobriety and he's worked a great program for a long time. He must really be down for this to have happened. Assuming he's willing to do the work, which I feel he will be once he gets sober, are you willing to work with him?"

"Of course. I need all my senior officers on my squad."

"Fair enough. Let me go talk to him." He went inside the apartment.

"Lieutenant Provenza, I really don't want Flynn to have to leave the LAPD. Truly, I don't," Sharon said.

"Appreciate that, Captain, and I know Flynn will, once he's himself again. Which may take a few days."

"Of course. I just have to wonder what precipitated all this."

"Me and you both. I sure didn't see it coming, and I know Flynn pretty well."

The two waited for what seemed like hours, but was only 15 minutes or so, when Gary came outside the apartment.

"Any luck in getting him to open up?" Provenza asked.

"Nightmares, which is what I figured. Remember that case you all worked in the winter, where the girl on the scooter got hit by the drunk driver?"

"God, yes. That was horrible," Provenza replied.

"Well, he's been having dreams about it. Frequently. I thought we'd dealt with it, really. But he finally admitted it was just too much and he got that bottle to see if he could sleep without dreaming, for a change."

Raydor closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can only imagine what he's been dealing with. I'm sure Chief Johnson suggested he see a counselor."

"She did, but he talked to me about it. A lot. I didn't know it had gotten this bad, though."

"Now what?" Raydor said.

"Well, there's a residential rehab facility in L.A. just for people like Andy: long-term recovery, then they have a relapse. It's a 14-day program. I think it would really help him. It's called Palm Shores. I've done counseling there and it's a great place. Everyone on the staff has at least 20 years in recovery, so they know what it's like. I strongly recommend he go there. I'll be glad to set up a referral and we can get him there tomorrow."

Raydor looked at Provenza. "Well, Lieutenant? What do you think?"

"Captain, I'm all for anything that will help Flynn get back on the straight and narrow. I'll stay with him the rest of the day and tonight, just to make sure he doesn't go buy another bottle of bourbon, and I'll drive him to the rehab tomorrow, myself."

She nodded. "You're a good friend, Lieutenant. I appreciate it and I know Flynn will when he's able to. Gary, I can't thank you enough for helping out here."

He smiled at the Captain. Andy had said she was the HBIC most of the time, but he could sense a tender core – much like Andy, whose very prickly exterior hid a very warm heart. Which was probably why he was having nightmares about that poor girl. "All right then, Provenza. I'll meet you two tomorrow morning here, at eight. We'll drag Andy there, if we have to."

"If he's as hungover as I'm afraid he's going to be, we may have to."

"Could be. But thank you for keeping an eye on him."

"No problem. Glad to help."

Raydor and Provenza went inside the apartment, and Sharon walked over to face Andy. He looked a little more alert than he had. "Lieutenant Flynn, because you're a senior officer, and we need you on the squad, I'm willing to work with you on this. Certainly, you're not the first police officer to have a drinking problem. If you go to Palm Shores in the morning and complete the entire 14-day program, you can come back, with never a word said. It won't go in your personnel file, and I will not tell anyone where you are. If you continue to remain sober, no one will ever know what happened. If, however, you relapse again like this, I will have no choice but to initiate disciplinary procedures. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Captain. I understand. I'll go."

"I'm glad. And I'm sorry about these nightmares. I can only imagine how awful they are."

"Go to hell, Sharon. You don't have the first damn clue what they're like." He turned his back to her in the recliner.

Raydor was taken aback, but Provenza actually patted her arm. "Like I said, Captain. Flynn's a total asshole when he's drunk. Pay him no mind. He's just trying to rattle your cage."

"And you can go to hell twice, old man."

"Once is enough, thanks. And if you don't shut up, I'm gonna beat the shit out of you while you're too out of it to fight back."

A snort came from the chair, which turned into a snore. Provenza sighed in relief. "He's finally passed out. Took him long enough."

"Are you sure you want to stay with him when he's like this?" Raydor asked Provenza.

"Want to? Not really. But somebody needs to be here."

"And what am I going to tell the squad?"

"The truth. Don't cover for him. But obviously, it doesn't go out of the department."

"Obviously. I should just say Lieutenant Flynn had a – a relapse?"

"Yep. They'll understand. They know him. Tell them he's going to rehab. I can tell you that once he dries out, he'll want to apologize to them. Probably to you, too."

Sharon shook her head. "Alcohol cost my husband his career. I don't want it to cost Lieutenant Flynn his."

"Not as long as I'm breathing, it won't," Provenza said.

* * *

"I remember now why I quit drinking," Andy said to Provenza, after throwing up for the fourth time since he woke up.

"Yeah. Gatorade's on the counter, along with Tylenol and aspirin," Provenza replied, looking over at his friend, crossword puzzle book in hand.

"Thanks. I guess I had to learn all over again why I quit." Andy went to the kitchen and drank the Gatorade, and took two Tylenol and an aspirin for good measure.

"You're willing to go to the rehab, right?"

Andy once again collapsed in his recliner, a wet washcloth over his eyes. "Yeah. I guess I need to. I had some crazy-ass dream that I hit on Raydor. Can you believe it?"

"It wasn't a dream, Flynn. You did hit on her. Told her you would, and I quote, 'give her a night to remember.' After she took off the bitch armor, that is."

Flynn raised a corner of the washcloth and peered at Provenza. "Are you freaking kidding me? Oh, God. Now I have to make amends to Raydor. I didn't even leave the house this time, and still managed to get myself in deep shit. Why don't I remember the trouble I get into when I drink?" He replaced the cloth and lay back in his recliner.

"Get some sleep, Flynn. You leave for rehab at eight in the morning."

* * *

Sharon had managed to inch up in getting more respect from her squad when they found she wasn't reporting Andy's relapse, but was keeping quiet about it.

"I thought she _had_ to report this kind of thing," Detective Amy Sykes said to Sanchez.

"Not necessarily. Lieutenant Flynn has 25 years on the force. He's been clean for over 15 years. It's the right thing to do."

"I see," Sykes replied.

"And Detective? If you want to stay in this squad, you'd better keep it quiet, too. This crew won't stand a snitch, and I guarantee Captain Raydor won't, either."

Sykes looked taken aback. It became clear to her that her loyalties had better align with her squad, and not with herself, or she wasn't going to be with them for very long. "Thanks for the tip, Detective," she answered.

"You're welcome," Julio said and turned back to his computer.

* * *

"My name is Andy and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi Andy," came the chorus.

"I'd been sober for over 15 years until last week. Then, I decided a bottle of bourbon was going to solve my problems and let me sleep. Obviously, it didn't, because it never does, and here I am. I'm a police officer and I work murders. Most of the time, I leave it at my desk. But there was this one case back in the winter, right before Christmas... Anyway, a 19-year-old girl was killed by a drunk driver and I saw the accident, and was with her when she died there on the pavement." Andy paused to wipe his nose and he sniffed. "So, I called my sponsor. We talked about it – a lot. I went to meetings. I thought I was dealing with it, thought I was facing it, working it out, doing what I needed to do to stay sober. But I guess I wasn't dealing with it so much, after all. I started having nightmares about it. You know, those kind that just keep on even after you wake up, and then go back to sleep. And they kept on. I did keep calling my sponsor, going to meetings, reading the Big Book and everything about getting through trauma that I could get my hands on. But the nightmares wouldn't quit. I even saw our department shrink, and he gave me some pills to take. But they didn't help, either. Nothing did. So I went back to what always took the pain away, even for a night. And honestly, it did. Once a quarter of the bottle was gone, so was I, and I never dreamed once. And because I'm a drunk, I kept drinking it. My partner found me in my apartment, and I called him every name in the book and propositioned my superior officer. My very hot superior officer, I've gotta say, since I'm keeping it honest, here." Laughter followed this statement and Andy grinned ruefully.

"But today, I'm grateful to be here. I'm grateful that, by the grace of my Higher Power, I still have a job I love, and that I didn't completely screw up my life in three days. How I'm going to make amends to my captain, I have no idea, but I guess that's one day at a time, huh? So today, I'm sober. Today I won't take a drink. Today, I'm grateful." He sat down and the group chorused, "Thanks, Andy."

After the meeting, Andy's roommate shook his hand. "Appreciate your honesty, man. So is your captain a man or a woman?"

Andy grinned. "Very much a woman."

"What's she look like?"

"About 5'5, when she's not wearing those mile-high heels. Sort of auburn-brunette hair and green eyes. She's got a stare that can freeze your balls."

"Built?"

"Oh yeah. Well, I think so. She wears these power suits, but underneath, yeah. I'm thinking there's some kind of woman under all that. Tough as nails, real by-the-book officer."

His roommate chuckled. "So what did you tell her?"

"Told her if she'd take off the bitch armor, I'd give her a night to remember." Andy looked a little shamefaced, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Dude! You must've been loaded. That'll get your ass sued in this day and age!"

"Don't I know it? But she was willing to keep me on as long as I did my stint here."

"Sounds like a good boss."

"Maybe better than I thought," Andy replied.

* * *

"...And I picked up the bottle instead of calling my sponsor, which is what I should have done, and I am sorry. I'm sorry you all had to pick up my slack and that I let you all down. You should be able to count on me, but I let you down and I am sorry." Andy stood in the murder room as he made his amends to the Major Crimes crew.

"We're just glad you're O.K., Lieutenant," Sanchez replied.

"Thanks Julio. I appreciate that."

Raydor came into the room. She knew Flynn would rather make his apologies without her hovering. She respected that. "Good morning, everyone. Glad to have you back, Lieutenant Flynn. I think we've all got quite a bit of paperwork to do, so, unless something blows up, let's try to get caught up, shall we?" She went into her office.

"Paperwork. We don't do anything else these days," Provenza groused.

Flynn figured Captain Raydor would keep him chained to his desk for a couple of weeks at least, but every time the squad rolled out, he went with them, and did what he always did.

Raydor actually found Flynn intriguing. He had an outward bravado, a dark, cynical sense of humor and a rather black-and-white view of the world. But he also had a humility that caught her attention. Bravado aside, he was well aware of his faults, which must be a product of being in AA for so many years. And of course, a woman couldn't deny Flynn was a handsome devil. Occasionally, he'd get a look in those dark eyes that told her he appreciated her as a woman, and it never failed to make her heart skip just a tiny bit.

Flynn would never have admitted it to Provenza, who was still packing a grudge against their Captain, but he found himself liking Raydor. Her insistence on adhering to the book was occasionally annoying, but she wanted to catch the bad guys as much as Chief Johnson had. It was just that she had come to terms with making deals and getting them behind bars. Brenda wanted that confession, every time. He missed her some days. You never knew what she was going to say. It was a crying shame about her mother. He liked Willie Rae. And maybe she didn't do it by the book, but that piece of crap Philip Stroh was behind bars, right where he needed to be. She had a record unequaled in the LAPD, and according to Fritz, was happy doing what she was doing. He was happy for her.

Flynn stood up and stretched. It was time to go home, finally, and leave the paperwork behind. Raydor was leaving her office, and Flynn still needed to make proper amends to her. "Hey, Captain. You got any dinner plans?"

She looked a little startled. "No, not tonight. Why do you ask?"

"Thought you might want to get a bite to eat."

Sharon looked at Flynn, but his expression was only inquisitive. No ulterior motives there that she could read. "I suppose, Lieutenant." Well, that sounded graceless. "Yes, thank you. I'd like that," she amended with a smile.

"Great. I'll just get my coat and clock out."

Andy knew of a little Italian place that closed late, so he suggested they go there. The food was wonderful, Sharon thought, and the conversation wasn't bad, either. "It's a little daunting, finding myself in charge of a teenager again, I have to confess," she said.

"I was wondering why you weren't hurrying home to check on Rusty."

"Well, he's in the chess club and also in an after-school program that helps kids like him catch up on their classes, since he's been out of school for several months. He was pretty far behind."

"Sounds like he's trying to get it turned around. That's good, right?" Andy said.

"Well, yes. But I raised two teenagers. I know that can change in a heartbeat."

"One day at a time, Captain," Andy said, raising his glass. "And that reminds me. One reason I asked you to dinner was to thank you for keeping me in the department and for not telling anyone about this. And I have to make amends, too. I am so sorry. I let you and the squad down and I'm really sorry. I didn't deserve it that you were willing to work with me, but you were, and I'm grateful. Thank you."

Sharon smiled. "You're welcome, Andy. I didn't want to let you go, or reprimand you. And since you were willing to to take the necessary steps to get better, you gave yourself options. I appreciate that."

Andy nodded. "Options are always good. And I also really, really need to apologize for what I said to you. That was so high school it wasn't funny. I swear it was the bourbon talking."

Sharon wanted to look sternly at him, and she made the attempt, until a grin sneaked across her face and took over. "You know, Andy. I have to admit, I was angry when you said it, but then, well, I decided a woman my age takes her compliments where she can get them. Even from one of her lieutenants who's had entirely too much to drink."

Andy chuckled. "It's not right that you should have to wait for a drunk to tell you that you're a beautiful woman. Because you really are, Sharon. I know - you're my superior officer and all that jazz, but there's no denying it – you are hot."

A blush spread across Sharon's face. "Andy, really. You don't have to say that to spare my feelings or anything."

"Spare your feelings? _Me_? You know I don't do that." His grin was wolfish. "I'm just telling the truth. So what are you going to do with Rusty, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't think his mother wants to be found again, but I really don't know if I'm up to dealing with another teenager. Particularly one who's as streetwise as Rusty."

Andy pondered this. "Well, as long as she's been gone, you never know. And from what Rusty told me, she's a drunk. Probably a junkie, too. And you know she left him at the zoo? Dear God. You know, you have to have a license to fish, hunt, drive a car, and even cut hair, but not to procreate. That sucks."

Sharon gave him a grim smile. "That very thought has occurred to me numerous times over the years, never more so than now." She looked at her watch. "Andy, I really need to get back. Rusty will be home any minute, and I really don't dare leave him by himself for too long. I hate to say it, but I just don't trust him that much yet."

"Don't blame you. I remember being 16. For some boys, trouble just follows them around at that age. I used to tell Ma that it waited for me on the corner, jumped me and dragged me off." He grinned.

"I am not a bit surprised," Sharon replied.

In the parking lot, Andy turned to Sharon. "It's been fun, Captain. We'll have to do this again."

"Yes. That would be nice. It's good to have someone to talk to, occasionally. Do you think Provenza is ever going to accept me?"

"He'll come around. It may take a while, but he will." What impulse made him do it, he didn't know, but he trailed one finger down Sharon's cheek. "You know my number, Captain. If you need to talk, give me a call."

Sharon's mouth suddenly went dry, and she caught a faint whiff of Andy's cologne. "Th-thank you, Lieutenant. I'll remember that," she barely managed. Then, she made the mistake of looking into his dark eyes. They twinkled with mischief and Sharon had to give herself a mental shake. "Have a good evening, Andy." She got into her car.

"You too, Sharon," he answered and winked at her.

Sharon drove home, shivering. She made a mental list of everything she didn't like about Andy. He had a bad temper; he wanted to take shortcuts with regulations; he routinely intimidated suspects; he had been brought up numerous times for unnecessary force; he was obnoxious; he was accident-prone when he and Provenza got together. There was a long list, but the whole time, another part of Sharon's brain was listing Andy's good points: he was honest; he had a wicked sense of humor; he was dedicated to his job. And, her body reminded her, he was sexier than any man his age had a right to be. And he was an alcoholic. Cold water washed over Sharon when she remembered that one fact. Being married to one drunk was enough. She wasn't falling for another one.


	2. Chapter 2: Street Colors

**A/N:** Yes, another chapter! I kept thinking a category for "Major Crimes" would pop up, so I'm a little ahead. Thought I'd go ahead and post this. Thank you all so much for the reviews and setting the story as a favorite, or to follow. Lets me know I'm doing something right. :) Keep reading and reviewing! Enjoy!_  
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**Chapter 2: Street Colors_  
_**

_Women_, Flynn thought the next day. _Women!_ They were completely unpredictable. Raydor had been coolly polite and distant all day, as if they hadn't had dinner the night before, and found they weren't such adversaries, after all. She was in full ice princess mode – make that ice _queen_ mode - and Flynn didn't understand it. Last night, she had been, well, really nice. Warm, even. But not today.

Raydor had drawn her armor around herself and was doing her best to avoid Flynn. He was dangerous in every way a man could be dangerous to her. She looked out from her desk occasionally and saw his chocolate-brown eyes on her, quizzical, wondering what he had done wrong. Nothing. He had done nothing wrong, but there was everything wrong in even thinking about him as anything other than strictly a colleague. She had to put him out of her mind, but it was nearly impossible, since she followed him everywhere with her eyes. She had never noticed that he was so put-together. He dressed so well. His suits were beautifully tailored and he always paired them with a bright shirt that set off his olive skin – _STOP IT! Stop it, Sharon! Just stop it!_ she thought to herself. Andy was a recovering – and recently relapsed - alcoholic. That was quite enough to drop him from any list of potential dates, period.

Sharon had no intention of being alone with Andy, ever, but he purposely stayed later and she couldn't hide in her office forever. She had to go home to see about Rusty. She took a deep breath and left her office. Andy immediately stood and met her at the door.

"What's going on, Captain? You've been treating me like a leper all day. Have I said something wrong?"

His eyes were warm, but Sharon couldn't respond to it. "No, Lieutenant. Of course not."

"So what gives? You've barely said two words to me. I didn't offend you at dinner last night, did I?"

"Not at all, Lieutenant. It was a pleasant evening."

"So what's up?"

"Nothing. I need to get home. Rusty's there by now."

Andy gave a short sigh of frustration. "I thought we got past some of the bad stuff between us last night. Maybe that we could make dinner an occasional thing. You know."

"That's just not possible. I'm your commanding officer."

"Yeah, but what's wrong with dinner? I had dinner with the Chief a few times. No big deal."

"She was also married."

"Well, so are you, technically. But I didn't think that meant we couldn't have a night out once in a while." Andy was genuinely puzzled.

"That's a bad idea for a number of reasons, Lieutenant," Sharon replied.

"Besides the rank thing? What? You can't hang out with me because your first husband was a drunk and so am I?"

Sharon should have known Andy would go there. He was too smart not to. It killed her to say it, but she did. "That's one reason." And then, when Andy hung his head like a whipped dog, it cut her to her heart.

"Fair enough. I need to remember what the bottle cost me. Good night, Captain." His voice was distant, now, and he walked away.

Every instinct Sharon had told her to run after him, but she just stood in the hallway. Finally, she took her briefcase and walked out, too.

* * *

Provenza was reading the paper the next morning when Flynn went to his desk. "Aw, hell," he said.

"Good morning to you, too. What's the matter?" Flynn replied.

"City council is in budget meetings. It's that time of the year," Provenza answered.

"So? What's that got to do with us, other than we get a directive from the Pope to make sure we're not racking up overtime? He's not talking about layoffs, is he?"

"No, nothing like that. It's the accounting side. The newspaper's city hall reporter is asking questions about 'financial irregularities.' I don't know how anybody expects a city the size of L.A. to keep up with every penny. But she's really been poking around in the LAPD's accounting."

Flynn started his computer. "Ours? Why? Didn't we get audited, like, four or five years ago? When that woman from D.C. who was playing footsie with Pope did it? I thought that would be the last we heard about an audit for a while."

Provenza snorted. "Well, the 'woman who was playing footsie with Pope' got murdered, if you recall, and she never finished her work. So, apparently, the feds have sent another auditor, and that nosy reporter doesn't like the results. They're public record."

"Yeah, I know they are. But what does that have to do with us? Not like we're accountants. We do our jobs and collect our paychecks. That's the only money we deal with," Flynn answered.

"Not exactly. This has to do particularly with money collected as evidence, like from drug busts."

"So? That's Vice and Narcotics, usually." After his conversation with Raydor the night before, Flynn really was in no mood to listen to Provenza bitch about budget woes.

Provenza slammed his paper on his desk. "Dammit, Flynn! Listen to me! I'm telling you that, because of this reporter, there's going to be a directive come down that says we have to do extra paperwork when we seize money as evidence! Like, what about all that money from the Rick Zuman case?"

"Went to the Feds. It was their money. I guess Fritz Howard took care of that. Not my problem. If it's paperwork, it's paperwork. I don't really care." Flynn didn't even look at his partner.

"Well, you're gonna care if it means you're pushing a pen instead of working a crime scene!"

But "Yeah, yeah. And the sky's falling. Jeez," was all the satisfaction Provenza got.

Still, when Raydor came in, she was accompanied by a woman. "This is Melinda Davis. She's the city hall reporter for the L.A. newspaper. She's going to ask us some questions. Please extend every courtesy to her."

Provenza pointed to his paper. "See? _See?_" he said in a stage whisper.

"I don't want to interrupt your work. Just want to get a feel for what goes on," the reporter said.

"In that case, you are interrupting. We don't _deal_ with money. There's your answer, so now leave, wouldja?" Provenza grumped.

Melinda raised her eyebrows. "Don't mind him," Detective Sykes said. "What would you like to know?"

"Just what the procedure is for handling money seized as evidence."

Before Sykes could get a word out, Tao said, "I believe I can answer that for you, Ms. Davis. Lieutenant Mike Tao. Whatever cash we seize is documented on video by our electronics technician, Buzz Watson. It's counted out on camera at the scene, and then again, here in the murder room. The serial numbers are recorded, and three copies of the list are made. The money and a copy of the list of numbers goes to the evidence room in a sealed container. The original list goes to the division chief, a copy goes to accounting and the investigating officer keeps the last copy in his or her case files."

"I see, Lieutenant Tao. And what happens to the money after it leaves the evidence room?"

"Unless we need it for another case, when the evidence is needed for trial, the District Attorney's office collects it and it's out of our hands from there."

"So you don't know what happens to the money once the D.A.'s office takes custody of it?" Melinda asked, as she wrote in her notebook.

"We never see it again unless, as I said, we get it to match other evidence from another case. Then, the money is recounted on camera, and it goes back into the evidence room." Tao was the soul of patience. He might be a good media liaison, Raydor thought.

"And what are your procedures for getting evidence from the room?"

"We sign out the numbers of the boxes we need, and sign them back in when we return them."

"And that's the only checklist you have, is an evidence logbook? Why don't you have something that keeps track of the boxes? Like microchips?"

Raydor broke in, "Because, Ms. Davis, the cost of microchipping evidence would be prohibitive, considering the city's financial situation. And our lieutenants do not make policy regarding the custody of evidence. You would need to speak with our Police Chief, William Pope, for that information. I'll be glad to escort you to his office."

"Thank you. I'll take you up on that in a minute or two. And you, Lieutenant Flynn," she answered, reading the nameplate on Flynn's desk, "do you have anything to add to this?"

Flynn looked at the woman. She was blonde, young and very attractive, and he noticed Sharon was watching them intently. It was junior high behavior, Flynn knew, but he was irritated. So, he threw his best smile at the woman and said, "Not really, but we're so glad you came by this morning. Always good to see new faces. We get tired of looking at just each other around here," and he winked at her.

Her blush was gratifying, and he glanced at Sharon. Her eyes were blazing and she looked like she was about to pull the blonde's hair out by the roots. Andy grinned at the reporter again for good measure, and Sharon went to her quickly. "If you'd like to interview Chief Pope, let's go to his office and see if he has a minute."

"Take care, Ms. Davis," Andy said.

"You too, Lieutenant," she answered, flustered.

As they walked out of the room, Provenza turned on Flynn. "What the hell was that about? She's a _reporter_! You don't put moves on reporters!"

"Just makin' sure I've still got it. I do," Andy replied and Tao and Sanchez chuckled.

"Yeah, sir. You should have seen her face turn red when Lieutenant Flynn winked at her," Julio said.

"If it gets her out of the murder room, it can't hurt," Sykes put in.

Provenza turned to her. "And as for you, Detective, if I want your opinion, I'll _give_ it to you! Capiche?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," she said, and rolled her eyes at Sanchez.

Andy was happy, though. He had just seen proof positive that Sharon Raydor really was interested in him. If she was jealous, she was interested. That was good.

When Raydor came back into the murder room, she glared icily at Andy. "Lieutenant Flynn, a word, if you have a moment?"

"Sure, Captain," Flynn said and followed Sharon into her office. She closed the door and turned to him.

"Lieutenant, do I really need to remind you about maintaining a professional demeanor with members of the press, and indeed with anyone who visits the murder room?"

"I was just being nice, Captain. That's all. I didn't ask her out or anything."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "'We get tired of looking at just each other'? Really? _Really_? And you winked at her! It's not professional, Lieutenant. It hurts the image of the department."

Incredibly, Andy grinned like a tomcat in the face of her ire. "O.K., Captain," he answered.

"This is not funny, Lieutenant!" she snapped.

"If you say so, Captain. I'll save my winks just for you from now on."

It dawned on Sharon, then. Andy had been trying to make her jealous and she had taken the bait like a big trophy fish! "You despicable creature, you!" she hissed.

"Wouldn't you love to know how despicable? Anything else - Captain?" The way he said "Captain" sounded like he was making love to her.

"Get out, you- you detestable –_WORM_!" She didn't raise her voice, but her face was pale with rage.

"All right." And as he reached the door, he had the unmitigated gall to wink at her! "See, just for you, Captain." He was gone before she could throw her stapler at him.

Sharon sat down with an exhalation of pure frustration. Andrew Flynn had to be the most exasperating man on the planet. He was completely unmanageable! She sat back. This was entirely her own fault. Andy was nothing if not an alpha male, and running from him just added zest to the chase, from his point of view. She should have sweetly agreed that dinner once in a while was a good idea, and then never quite had the time. Eventually, he would have given up. But now, he had made her jealous, and he knew it. He had all the leverage. Maybe she should start showering Sanchez with attention. Julio wasn't a lieutenant, which would prick Andy's ego. But it wasn't in her nature to use people like that. This would be much easier if Andy was just a jerk. But he wasn't. In reality, he was a good man and a good cop. And an alcoholic. She couldn't forget that. It could be her ruination.

"What was that all about?" Sykes asked.

"She was just taking me to task for winking at Ms. Davis, that's all," Flynn answered, but his expression was pleased.

Provenza was immediately suspicious. "Why do you look so happy?"

Flynn shrugged. "It's fun getting under her skin." Which it was.

"Provenza," the lieutenant answered his phone. A pause, then, "Rolling out." He stood. "Showtime, people." He went to Raydor's door. "Captain, we have bodies."

"Certainly, Lieutenant." Raydor rose from her desk and grabbed her purse. "Let's be on our way, shall we?"

At the location, Raydor surveyed the scene and quizzed the uniform. "Officer, why was Major Crimes called, rather than the gang task force? This is clearly a gang-related shooting."

"Because, Captain, there are more than three bodies. Department policy," Provenza answered.

"I see. All right. Bring me up to speed, then, officer."

"Looks like a shootout between the Dos Equis – yeah, like the beer – and the South Ten Ones. Hispanic on black gangs," the officer replied.

"Just what we need," Sanchez said. "It's bad enough when both gangs are the same race."

Raydor turned to him. "Detective, do you have any thoughts on how we should proceed from here?"

Julio shrugged. "We do it like any other murder, but we get our CI's to listen for word on the street about who did it. We look for tags because gang members want people to know they did what they did. And we make sure we're on the lookout for retaliation. This won't go unanswered, Captain. Somebody will be out for payback."

Raydor's blood ran cold at the thought. "I'll tell Chief Taylor what we've got, and that we need saturation in this neighborhood. Forgive me Detective Sanchez, but are we in Dos Equis or Ten One territory?"

"Ten One, Captain."

"Thank you. We will need saturation in both neighborhoods. Detective, please coordinate that. You know the territory boundaries. Do we have identification on the victims, yet?"

"Working on it, Captain," Tao answered. "But from their colors, I'd say we have two of each."

"Lovely. And can we get any help from Vice and Narcotics on whether there was an unusual amount of drug activity in the area, lately, Detective Sykes?"

"I'll make some calls, Captain."

"Thank you. Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza, I know it's probably an exercise in futility, but can you see if even one neighbor saw anything, or if they're all blind, deaf and dumb?"

"On it," Flynn answered and motioned to his partner. "Let's see if anyone will talk. At least they speak English," he said.

"This is one time when we need Gabriel," Provenza groused.

"Yeah, just what we need: a snitch."

"Come off it, Flynn! He didn't know Anne was in cahoots with Goldman! You've beaten that horse to death, all right? I don't want to hear another word about it!"

Flynn gave his partner a murderous look. "We're not in the murder room, so lay off that 'everybody's dad' routine. My dad's been in the ground for a long time."

"I'm just sick of hearing about it. Done is done."

"So say that instead of ordering me to be quiet like I'm in first grade!"

"What the hell is eating you today, Flynn?"

"Nothin', old man. So let's go talk to people, all right?"

Raydor heard this exchange, and knew Flynn's agitation stemmed from last night's conversation. He deserved better than she could give him. It was for the best. She told herself that, anyway.

At least Flynn hit pay dirt with a woman who was eager to talk to him. "Come in, Lieutenant!" she exclaimed. "You did say 'Lieutenant'? My hearing's not too good."

"Yes Ma'am, I did. Can you tell me if you saw or heard anything today?" Flynn asked her.

"Sit down! Well, like I said, I'm kind of hard of hearing, but I saw plenty. I'm telling you: my son said, 'Mama, you don't need to be living off in Mississippi while we're out here. We've got a nice house! Everybody's broke where you are. Come live with us where we can take care of you!' Well, I'll tell you what, Lieutenant! I never was afraid I was gonna be shot in the street in Greenwood! I'd rather live in a shack in the Mississippi Delta and be able to go about my business than be here in this God-forsaken city in a nice house, where I can't even go outside to water my flowers, without a bunch of little hoodlums shootin' each other! They think they's grown men. But they ain't. They's just a mess of little boys who gotta be all bad so they gets respect. That ain't respect! And they's heathens! Never saw the inside of a church. They just raised by sorry mamas and the daddy's in jail, every last one of them. They starts out throwing rocks at windows, and this is how they ends up."

Flynn hid a grin. This dear soul had just laid out the L.A. gang problem in under a hundred words. "So, Mrs. Peebles, what did you see?"

"Well, I had turned on the TV to see my afternoon shows, and I heard a bunch of yelling. Even I could hear it, so you knows it was loud. I peeped out from my curtains, and I saw these little punks yelling and waving they guns at each other."

"Could you tell what they were saying?" It was a longshot, he knew.

She looked disgusted. "Lord, no. I didn't want to hear their trash! I just could hear them hollerin', you understand? And then one of them shot up in the air, and that's when all hell broke loose, excuse my language."

"How many did you see?

"Ten, maybe twelve. There was a passel of them. They was all yelling and pointin' at one another. But they ran like roaches when the shootin' started. Just disappeared."

Flynn nodded. "They were wearing colors. Which colors shot up in the air?"

"Let me see, now. Seems like it was the ones in orange and blue. The others had all red and black on."

"Mrs. Peebles, you have been a huge help. Here's my card. If you see any of those little punks again, you call me. I mean it. Call me, all right?"

She took the card and smiled at Flynn. "I'll do it. Count on it. I's tired of these little hoodlums runnin' things around here, like they goes to work every day and pays rent and the light bill. They's just a bunch of worthless, shiftless deadbeats! They expect they mamas to throw their bail for them. And what does mama do, but fly on down to the jail and cry and carry on about how her baby's been mistreated cause he black! I never heard such. They baby's in jail cause he's a punk! That's why he's in jail! I'm glad the police want to get these people. I'll help. They can go ahead and shoot me if they wants to, but they can't keep me quiet! I'm 84 years old. I've lived a good life, and if they shoots me, I'll go to be with Jesus and my husband! I ain't afraid of nothing they can do to me!"

Flynn chuckled. "Mrs. Peebles, have you ever thought of leading a Neighborhood Watch program?"

"You tell me how and I'll start the parade," she answered.

"Great. I'll give your name and address to the coordinating officer and she'll contact you."

"Sounds fine to me." She pointed to a broom standing by the front door. "Long as I got my broom, I'll sweep 'em on out like the trash they are!"

"And the LAPD will be right behind you. Have a good day, Ma'am."

"You too, Lieutenant. You come back and see me, you hear me?"

"Yes Ma'am. I will," he answered, and when he got outside, laughed again.

"What's so funny, Flynn?" Provenza snapped at him, as he came from the neighbor's yard.

"Mrs. Peebles saw everything and gave me an earful about how she feels about gang activity. She said they were, and I quote, 'worthless, shiftless deadbeats.'"

"Wise woman. Anything she saw that we can use?"

"Yeah."

Back at the scene, Flynn was talking to Raydor and Sanchez. "Mrs. Peebles said there were ten or twelve members outside, yelling at each other, pointing, you know. Then one of them, wearing orange and blue, shot into the air, and the party started. But she said they, quote 'ran like roaches' when the shooting was going on."

Sanchez nodded. "That sounds about right. Orange and blue means the Ten Ones shot in the air. Which then means this is gonna be the prime payback territory. The Dos Equis are gonna be looking for the shooters in this neighborhood."

Raydor tapped her toe nervously on the pavement. "We've got to have containment, here, or this is going to become a powder keg, waiting to blow up." She thought a moment. "Detective, do we know who the current leaders are of each of these gangs?"

"I can find out for you, Captain," Sanchez answered.

"Please do. If they're not in prison, I want them downtown. If they are in prison, find out who the next one down the line is, until we have at least one person of interest from each gang."

"Yes Ma'am." He got on his cell phone.

Raydor looked around. "My first instinct is to just build a temporary cage in each neighborhood, round up every one of these little hoodlums we can find, and throw them in there until we get them all."

Flynn looked at her and grinned. "I don't think there's an LAPD procedure for building cages, Captain. Just FYI."

"Shut up, Lieutenant," was Raydor's curt retort.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered, still smirking.

Raydor clenched her fists and suppressed the urge to smack her lieutenant. She took a deep breath and resolved not to allow Andy to get under her skin like this. "Lieutenant Flynn, you and Lieutenant Provenza go back downtown and talk to Agent Howard and see if the FBI has any information concerning these gangs. They may have an undercover agent or someone who can tell us more. In fact, we can clear the scene now that we know about as much as can be known from here. How many rounds were fired, do we know?"

"A lot," Provenza replied.

"Naturally. Well, we can reconvene in the murder room and start putting our information together."

* * *

Flynn was tacking up photos of the murder victims on the board, and was listing information about the incident.

"All right, is there anything new about this?" Raydor asked when she had looked at the board.

Flynn was still writing as he answered, "Agent Howard says the Ten Ones are on the FBI list because they've been dealing in assault weapons. Considering the amount of firepower they had, that makes sense."

"Thank you. What else?"

Sanchez raised his hand. "Captain, I found out the Dos Equis are a fairly new gang. They're small and looking to make a name for themselves, which probably explains why they were in Ten One territory. Their leader is Jose Concepcion. He's a Guatemalan national and Lieutenant Verdad in the gang unit thinks Dos Equis may be an offshoot of a Guatemalan gang, Dos Santos. All the Dos Santos offshoots have 'dos' in their names. We're looking for Jose right now."

Raydor nodded. "Thank you, Detective. That's valuable information to have. Detective Sykes, any more activity than usual in these neighborhoods?"

She shook her head. "Not according to Vice or Narcotics, Ma'am. They said it's been about the same, but they're calling in their CI's to see if anyone has heard anything."

"Captain, the Guatemalan consulate sent me some photos they have of Concepcion. Not surprisingly, he was a bad boy there, too. INS has deported him twice, but apparently, it didn't stick," Tao said, handing Flynn a photo to post on the board.

Raydor folded her arms and perused the board. "Dealing with gangs is like trying to untangle a sack full of pissed-off cobras. And it's just about as useful. Do we have a name for the head of the Ten Ones?"

"Yes, Captain," Sanchez answered. "That's his photo Lieutenant Flynn is putting up now. His name is Jadarius Jackson. He's done one stint in county for burglary, but he's out now. On parole, so we can pick him up."

"Do that, please."

Tao sighed. "Captain, Concepcion has a federal hold on him. If we pick him up, the FBI is going to be all over this case."

Raydor looked at the board again and pursed her lips. "Only if they know we have him. We'll just keep that tidbit to ourselves, until we have to turn him over."

"And, he's got a warrant in Alabama for three counts of capital murder."

"Alabama?" Flynn said. "Guy gets around."

"That's probably where he was when the INS thought they had deported him," Sanchez answered.

"So who gets him, I wonder?" Raydor mused.

"With all the deal-making going on around here, I say let the good folks in Alabama have him. He'll end up where he belongs down there: on death row," Provenza said with conviction.

"Well, that option would save the California taxpayers some money, certainly," Raydor replied. She paced the length of the board, looking at it. "But what started _this_? Just small-time gang-bangers wanting to be famous? Is it really that simple?"

"Probably, Ma'am. It probably is just that simple," Julio said.

"What a shame. Lieutenant Tao, can you find out what Concepcion did in Alabama?"

Tao grimaced. "Unfortunately. They want him for the rape and murder of a 75-year-old woman, her 40-year-old daughter and 16-year-old granddaughter during a home invasion."

"Oh, God," Flynn said, closing his eyes. Julio crossed himself. Sykes shook her head and Raydor said, "Lieutenant Provenza, I'm inclined to agree with your assessment of the custody issue, that the Alabama taxpayers should have the privilege of trying him and putting a needle in his arm, if he's found guilty."

"Well, all we can do is pick him up, for now," Flynn said. "But if he's in our interview room, at least he's not stirring it up in the gangs, or killing women."

"Indeed. So let's see about finding him before anything else happens," Raydor answered.


	3. Chapter 3: A Matter of Custody

**A/N:** I believe I mentioned I had several chapters already written... Anyway, first and foremost, THANK YOU ALL for the follows, favorites and reviews. I am both humbled and gratified that people are reading and enjoying the story. I'm also always open to suggestions concerning plot, etc., so don't be afraid to PM me if you have a thought. I may not use it in this story, but it may show up in another story. I always consider all suggestions and am thankful for them. So, here's chapter three. R&R, won't you?

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Matter of Custody**

Raydor had managed to escape the murder room the evening before without running into Flynn, but she felt his eyes on her all morning. Concepcion had been arrested late the night before, along with Jadarius Jackson. They were in separate rooms, but each knew the other had been arrested, and neither one was happy. Another member of the Dos Equis gang was held in the Robbery division, being interviewed by Lieutenant Verdad.

"Why you bring me in? I wasn't doing nothin'!" Jackson protested to Flynn, who was keeping an eye on him.

"Shut up," was the response.

"Don't be tellin' me to shut up, white boy! I can make sure bad things happen to you!"

Flynn rolled his eyes and looked up from reading "The Sporting News." "Are you such a dumbass that you don't even know that just saying that to a police officer is an automatic ticket back to jail? Besides, we found some weapons at your place that I'm pretty sure you weren't using for skeet shooting, so the feds are gonna want to talk to you, too." He resumed reading.

"Call me a dumbass?" Jackson rose halfway, but Flynn had handcuffed him to the table. "We'll find out who's the dumbass! You are!"

Flynn placed his paper on the table and stood over Jackson. "And I'm also the dumbass who carries a badge and a Glock. So do yourself a favor. Sit down, shut up and wait for your lawyer to get here, since you asked for one! Got it? Good."

Jackson sat sullenly, muttering to himself. Flynn picked his paper up and finished reading the sad story of the Dodgers' ever-expanding injuries list.

Jackson's attorney finally came into the room. "Bob Cole, attorney for Mr. Jackson," he said.

"Lieutenant Andy Flynn."

"Have you questioned my client?"

Flynn glared at him. "Not a word. He invoked, we put him in here for safekeeping and I've been babysitting him all morning while you took your sweet time getting here. It's all on tape. Just like when he threatened that he could make bad things happen to me. That's on tape too, if you're interested. You might want to talk to your client about shooting his big mouth off when he's in custody."

"He called me a dumbass, Mr. Cole!" Jackson exclaimed.

Flynn chuckled. "There's no law against telling the truth. I suppose you two want some alone time. I'll be close by."

"Can we get his cuffs removed?" Cole said.

Flynn shook his head in disbelief. "No, no and hell no. You might be his attorney, but if I were you, I wouldn't trust him any farther than I could throw him. And if he attacks you, the city's liable. So, nope." He left the room.

He went back to his desk, only to find all hell had broken loose in the murder room. Raydor was standing nose-to-nose with Fritz Howard, and sharp words were being exchanged. An unfamiliar man and woman, both cops by the look of them, were arguing with one of Howard's colleagues, and Taylor was trying to get everyone to calm down. Provenza was enjoying the show and obviously not inclined to do anything about it.

"Flynn," Taylor said, grabbing his arm. "I've got a sore throat and they're not hearing me. You can yell louder than I can."

Flynn smirked at Taylor and taking a deep breath, yelled, "PEOPLE! SHUT IT _**DOWN**_!"

The unfamiliar voice halted the noise. "Chief Taylor, it's all yours," he said in a conversational tone.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Flynn. We are not going to get anything settled by yelling at each other. I propose we adjourn to the conference room and get these issues hashed out - like adults. Is that all right with everybody?" He gestured to the room and the crew filed inside, except for Provenza, who stayed at his desk. He didn't have a dog in this fight.

"Now then," Taylor began, once everyone was settled, "I am Assistant Chief Russell Taylor. Our guests are Lieutenants Reginald Swoopes and Dana Stroud from the Birmingham Police Department's homicide division. Lieutenants, our Major Crimes crew, Captain Sharon Raydor, Lieutenants Mike Tao and Andy Flynn and Detective Amy Sykes. Our FBI friends are Fritz Howard and Tom Duke. Now that we have all the names straightened out, I'm going to draw the conclusion that all this furor is over the Concepcion arrest. We're going to go around the table, and everyone is going to speak their piece, civilly, with no interruptions, all right? Agent Howard, you first."

Fritz glared at Raydor, but said, "Thank you, Chief Taylor. The FBI has primary standing to arrest Jose Concepcion because he has a federal warrant and we think he may be involved in a large drug and human trafficking ring, which is based in Guatemala."

He was about to say more, when Taylor said, "Thank you, Agent Howard. Captain Raydor?"

She cleared her throat. "He's the head of the Dos Equis gang and we want to question him in a shooting that left four gang members dead, and could spark a gang war, which we obviously do not want."

"And now, our guests from Birmingham," Taylor indicated them.

Lieutenant Swoopes nodded at Taylor. "We've got prints and DNA matches for Concepcion for the rape and murder of three women during a home invasion. It's three counts of capital murder. He bonded out on a burglary charge two hours before the capital arrest warrant was issued, and we've been on his trail for a solid month. The state of Alabama claims primary custody of Concepcion, but of course, we're more than willing to allow Captain Raydor to question him in connection with the gang murders. But Alabama wants him."

Taylor said, "Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, here's what we're going to do. Since Concepcion is in LAPD custody at this time, Captain Raydor gets the first interview. That should be sufficient to determine who gets him next. You all are, of course, invited to observe the interview. Captain?"

"Thank you, Chief Taylor," Raydor answered. She walked out the door, past Flynn, and could have sworn he touched her elbow as she went by. Was there no discouraging the man, she wondered?

* * *

When Raydor and Sanchez were in the interview room with Concepcion, she asked Julio, "Does he speak English?"

"Not well, Captain. I'll translate."

"Thank you. Mr. Concepcion, where were you yesterday about noon?"

The answer came back and Julio said, "He says he was at home, and you don't want to know what else he said, Ma'am."

"I'm sure I don't. Ask him if he shot those Ten Ones."

"He says he has no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course he doesn't. Tell him the FBI is waiting to speak with him."

That just drew a short bark of laughter.

"All right then, Detective. Tell him the city of Birmingham also has detectives here who want to question him." She observed the man closely as Sanchez relayed the information. Concepcion went pale, but was silent. "I see we hit a nerve. Tell him they have DNA and fingerprint evidence for that home invasion."

Julio told the man what Raydor said, and he exploded in a flurry of agitated Spanish. Julio chuckled.

"What's so funny, Detective?"

"He says he wants to be tried here because he didn't shoot those Ten Ones and California can't ask for the death penalty if he confesses to what he did. He doesn't want to go back to Alabama because he said he'll be tried, convicted and executed."

"Which is exactly what he deserves, if he's guilty," Raydor mused. "All right. Let me go back to the conference room and see what we can hammer out."

More chaos reigned in the room as each side sought to fight for its claim. Only Lieutenant Stroud from Birmingham didn't say a word. She just watched the scene. Flynn watched her. He had learned from experience to be wary of the mind of a Southern woman. They were devious in ways he did not understand. And he could see the wheels turning in Dana Stroud's mind. Not a petite blonde like Brenda, she was a sturdy brunette, attractive and intriguing. She seemed to take in everything and was processing it silently. He had a feeling when she did speak up, it would be interesting.

Finally, Taylor got the crowd calmed down. "Can anyone add anything constructive to this?" he said.

Dana looked up. "I can," she said quietly. She took off her glasses and chewed thoughtfully on the earpiece for a moment. "The question here is obviously primary standing. Alabama is in no good financial shape, but we're only dealing with a population of about 4 million, unlike California."

_Where was she headed with this?_ Flynn wondered.

"California, on the other hand, is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and I'm certain, would love to save the money of housing yet another career criminal in its already severely overcrowded prison system. Thus, I do not see Concepcion's extradition to Alabama as a real issue, in spite of his desire to be tried here. I don't blame him for that, though."

"But what about the fact that we want him, too, Lieutenant Stroud?" Fritz said. "And a federal warrant has authority over a state warrant."

"And that does present something of a conflict, doesn't it, Agent Howard?" she said, never raising her voice. Flynn decided they might be dealing with a Southern version of Sharon Raydor. That was a scary thought. Her accent was different from Brenda's – a little faster, but softer.

"Nevertheless," Dana continued, "a federal warrant only has superior authority as long as a judge says it does. I am prepared to have our District Attorney file for primary standing in the federal court in Birmingham."

"Federal warrants are always upheld," Fritz replied.

"Now you might think so," she said pleasantly, "but there are circumstances here that I feel sure would establish primary standing as belonging to the state of Alabama. Our federal judge is a lifelong resident of Birmingham, and has no patience for people who break into an elderly woman's home and do to her and her family what Jose Concepcion did. We have graphic crime scene photos, Agent Howard. We have fingerprints and DNA. We have three capital murder charges on this man. And _you_ wouldn't even get the chance to plead your case. Since the filing would be in the Southeastern Jurisdiction, the Atlanta Bureau would send an agent who, I can tell you, would probably not argue too vigorously for Concepcion to be remanded to federal custody, considering the heinous nature of these crimes. Perhaps the West Coast federal judges are inclined to allow capital murder suspects to remain in federal custody. I can assure you the Southeastern Jurisdiction jurists are not so large-minded."

Flynn hid a chuckle. Without artifice or running a scam on Howard, Dana Stroud had just cut him off at the knees with surgical precision. He had to applaud her.

She continued, "Perhaps you can convince Captain Raydor to give you Jadarius Jackson, since his gang, as I understand it, is deep into illegal weapons sales. Let the American taxpayers share the burden of his incarceration." Here, she paused and leaned forward, looking Howard right in the eyes. "But Agent Howard, we're taking Concepcion to Alabama." Her tone brooked no argument.

Raydor sat back and looked at the detective in admiration. She must have been formulating this defense the whole time. It was elegantly played.

Lieutenant Swoopes laughed. "I forgot to tell you. Lieutenant Stroud went to law school and practiced for a couple of years before she decided she wanted to be a police officer."

"Doesn't surprise me," Raydor said. "So now I suppose you and I, Agent Howard, can contend for custody of Jadarius Jackson. I'll consider letting you have him if he tells me who his trigger men were in the shooting – assuming he's not one of them, of course."

"I can live with that, Captain," Fritz said, but he was still smarting over losing Concepcion.

"And I'll even throw in the little peon we picked up with Jose. I'm sure Lieutenant Verdad has him singing like a canary by now. We can use what he said to get our shooters and there may be something you can use in your drug investigation. Although, I don't think Concepcion is the one you're looking for. Vice and Narcotics have not reported increased drug activity in the area."

Dana stood. "I'd like to speak with Concepcion now, please."

"Sure, Lieutenant," Sanchez said. "I'll translate."

"Thank you, Detective."

When Sanchez and Dana walked into the interview room, Dana grinned at the suspect. Her looked at her in terror. "When we had to release you on bond for that burglary charge, I told you then Jose, that I'd find you, that I'd be coming for you. Here I am. And Lieutenant Swoopes is with me. You'll have the time to contemplate your sins in prison." She waited for Sanchez to translate and Concepcion gestured wildly as he spoke.

"He says he wants to stay in California."

"What's the Spanish word for 'extradition,' Detective?"

"It's 'extradicion,' Lieutenant."

Dana looked at Concepcion's terrified expression. "I think he understands. Funny how he's so afraid to die, but didn't think twice about raping and strangling those three women. Adios, Senor Concepcion. We'll see you in Birmingham and I'm sure, on death row down at Atmore. May God have mercy on your soul."

* * *

"Looks like we averted a gang war, Captain," Flynn said as Raydor came out of her office.

"I hope so. The shooters are in custody, and we've got saturation in the relevant neighborhoods."

"Mrs. Peebles will be happy to hear that. She's all for a strong police presence," Flynn chuckled.

"I've found that's the case with law-abiding people," Raydor replied.

"Yeah. So you're headed home to see Rusty? How's he doing?"

"He's a teenager. And an angry one. Where are we on finding his mother? I haven't checked on it in a couple of days."

Flynn shrugged. "Nowhere, much. My guess is she's changed her name and dropped off the grid, but I don't know. We do have her photo on all the national databases, but if we do find her and get her back here, it's not like she'll be Rusty's mom again. She'll be charged with abandonment and endangering the welfare of a child. She'll go to jail, and he'll still be alone."

Raydor's face was sad. "I know. But maybe, if we find her, he will at least go to foster care willingly, or without running away. I cannot imagine what would cause a mother to abandon her child. It's unthinkable."

"That's because you're a mom who cares about her kids."

"I suppose so."

Flynn wrinkled his brow. "Captain, are you O.K.? You look run down."

"I'm very tired. I'd forgotten how tiring it can be to work this job and look after a teenager, too. I don't know how I did all those years." She shook her head.

"Don't kill me for this, but you were a little younger then," Flynn replied, his eyes twinkling dangerously at her.

"Don't remind me, Lieutenant."

He came to stand beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go get some takeout, go back to your place and eat. Rusty can eat with us. You need to relax and unwind. I'll even take him to a movie or something, so you can have a little peace and quiet."

Sharon was touched. "Thank you, Andy. That's very kind, really, but I can't."

"It's just dinner. Give me a chance, Sharon. I know since I relapsed, it's tough to trust me. I get that. But at least give me the opportunity to earn your trust." His eyes were sincere.

Sharon faced him. She could feel his warmth, his strength, and an essential _something _that crackled in the air between them. She couldn't look into those dark eyes, though, and maintain any resolve. She dropped her gaze.

"That's my answer, then, I guess. When you're ready to let me in, I'll be here." He left.

Sharon was shaking. How did she have the inner strength to keep turning him down? Was he insane for keeping up the chase? Was she insane for staying away from him? Was it even more insanity to give in? She had a headache. She needed an aspirin and a hot bath.


	4. Chapter 4: Headaches

**A/N:** Once again, thank you all so much for he reviews! They're like gold! :) This is the last chapter I had ready, but I'm already working on chapter 5, so hopefully, it will also be up in a couple of days or so. Hope you enjoy the latest, and R&R!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Headaches**

A faint scent of bourbon still hung in the air in Andy's apartment, even though his landlord had the carpet cleaned. It must have gotten into the carpet pad. He was flipping through TV channels, but wasn't settling on anything. Nothing looked interesting. It was all the same old crap: reality shows and talking heads.

Andy managed to ignore the bourbon odor most of the time, but it stole into his brain this night. "I need to call Gary," he muttered, so he dialed his sponsor's number. "Hey man. What's going on?"

"Not a lot. What about you?"

"Rough night."

"Talk to me."

"It's my boss. She's acting like I have the plague or something. She'll hardly talk to me, then she'll tell me all this stuff like she wants someone to listen, but then pulls back. We went to dinner a few days ago and had a nice time. But she doesn't want to do it again, and when I asked her if it's because I'm an alcoholic, she said that was one of the reasons. Her husband – they're separated – is an active drunk." Andy explained all this in a rush.

"I see. Now this is the woman who came to your apartment with Provenza, right?"

"Yeah. Captain Raydor."

"O.K. Must be tough to have a woman who looks like that in the office all day. She's your age, roughly, and if she had dinner with you, single, for all practical purposes."

Andy snorted. "It's hell."

"Sounds like it."

"I told her I'd like the chance to earn her trust, but she just wouldn't answer me. Kind of makes me wonder why I'm attempting to stay sober."

Andy could hear Gary's soft laughter. "Self-pity won't help, and you know it. And you know why sobriety is your best choice. It's life. Relapse is death. But I have to say, for a man who isn't drinking, you sound an awful lot like a crying drunk." His voice was gently teasing.

"I know it. Can't I have a 15-minute pity party once in a while?"

"As long as you end it after 15 minutes and don't immediately invite yourself to another one, sure. How's work? I saw the gang shootings on TV."

"Ehhh. Work's OK. I can deal with gangbangers getting shot. Thinning the herd, you know?"

"That's kind of heartless, isn't it?"

"Oh, please. They don't have hearts themselves. They'll shoot anybody who gets in their way. But we did send a real bad boy back to Alabama to be tried for three counts of capital murder. They've got a good case against him and unless he pleads guilty, he's a shoo-in for death row. At least down there, he'll get what's coming to him."

"So what are you going to do about your boss?"

"I don't know. I know what I'd like to do to her – or with her," Andy chuckled.

"Don't blame you. But you can't force her. You know that."

"Yeah. Don't I know it." They exchanged a few pleasantries and Andy ended the call. He decided to go on to bed, but had hardly undressed when his phone rang. He looked at the ID. Raydor? Hmm. "Flynn," he answered.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," Sharon said, sounding harried.

"No, I hadn't gone to bed, yet. What's going on? We get a body?"

"No, thank goodness. I'm sitting outside my house in the car. I am at my wits' end with Rusty. I thought I could handle this, but I'm ready to commit grievous bodily harm on this child." She sighed and Andy thought he could hear tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Sharon. I think teenagers are supposed to build character or something." He was sympathetic.

"I suppose. I hate to ask you to do this, but do you think you might be able to talk some sense into him?"

"You mean, over the phone?" This was odd, but you asked for help where you could, he guessed.

"N-no. Over here. Rusty knows you. You took him to the bus station to meet his mother. Maybe you can get through to him. He's talking about leaving tonight!"

"Wow. Yeah, let me get my shoes on and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Andy. I really appreciate it."

"Thank me if it does some good. See you in a few."

Sharon was still sitting in her car when Andy pulled into the drive. She opened the car door. "This is awful. I walked out before I said something I'd really regret."

"He may not listen to me, either," Andy said.

"Do what you can."

Andy shrugged and went into the house. Rusty was sitting on the sofa, looking like a thundercloud. Andy tried to put himself in Rusty's shoes, to understand how angry the kid must be. "Hey Rusty," he said.

"What?" was the curt reply.

"What's going on with you and the Captain?"

"She's a lying bitch, all right? How's that?" he snapped.

Andy's eyes widened. "Watch your mouth. What did she do?"

"Well, she said she was gonna find my mom again, but she hasn't done dick about it! She doesn't care if anyone finds her again or not!"

"I said, watch your mouth." Andy's tone was darker. "You know, we can't make people appear out of thin air. There's 300 million people in this country. How many of them do you think are named Sharon Beck?"

Rusty turned angry eyes on him. "Don't tell me to watch my language. I'll say whatever I want to you. And I don't care how many people are named Sharon Beck. Only one of them is my mother. And you people aren't even looking for her!"

Andy tamped down his temper. "How do you know we're not looking for her?"

"Because you haven't found her again!" Rusty snarled.

Andy sat on the coffee table facing Rusty. "Sometimes, people don't want to be found. And that makes it tough. She may not still be using her real name. We've sent her picture to every national database that works on finding missing people, and we still have an alert out on her credit card. We're also working on locating the guy she met in Bakersfield. Because," he said, holding up a hand at Rusty, who was about to start yelling, "they may be traveling together still, and if we find him, we may be able to find her."

"Sounds like a lot of excuses to me."

Andy shook his head. "Yeah, it would, because you don't know the first thing about looking for people – especially people who don't want to be found. I've been doing this over 25 years, Rusty, and I'm telling you that sometimes it's a waiting game. And with technology, it doesn't take as long now as it used to. But we're waiting. We're making follow-up phone calls and we're doing what we can. Besides. I thought you didn't care about whether we found her again or not."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "I don't. I just want to spit in her face. Stop lying to me."

"Prove I'm lying. But since you're so interested in the truth, here are a couple of really, really hard truths you need to know. First, unless your mother can prove she was forced to leave you at the zoo, if we find her, the state will probably charge her with abandonment and child endangerment and she will be arrested and will go to jail, at least in the short term. Second, and this is worse: your mother may not still be alive. That jerk she met in Bakersfield could have killed her and dumped the body. We don't know. Honestly? Your best hope is that she has some kind of attack of conscience and tries to get in touch with you again. _That's_ the truth, man."

Rusty looked at Andy. He was serious, and Rusty had the feeling that Andy was being straight with him. "She might be dead?"

"We don't know. That's what I'm trying to tell you. We just can't be sure of anything, right now. The waiting gets to all of us. We all want cases to move along faster. We want to solve every case yesterday. But sometimes, that's not possible. You know how to use a computer. Run your mom's name as a missing person through Google. Every hit you get will be a site we contacted to get her photo out there. Brenda's husband is the FBI liaison. He even agreed to run her name through the FBI files, so if she turns up using her Social Security or driver's license anywhere in the country, the feds will know about it."

"Still doesn't mean Captain Raydor gives a shit."

Andy narrowed his eyes at the teen. "All right, now let's talk about that, man to man. The way I was raised, my Ma or Gramma would have knocked me on the floor for using that kind of language. I have bad habits now, but if my Ma were still around, I wouldn't say anything harder than 'gosh' in her presence. She would still flatten me, if she had to do it with her cane."

"I'm impressed," came the bored reply.

"You should be. My Ma wasn't even five feet tall and she raised a big family, and we're all respectable citizens, more or less. But I'd like to know who's been feeding your ungrateful face, who's given you a bed to sleep in and a safe place to stay so you're not in the streets having to turn tricks to eat. Any guesses?"

Another eye roll. "She's such a humanitarian."

"Damn right she is. She kept your skinny little ass out of juvie when you ran away from the foster home. She's not a licensed foster parent, either. She didn't have to do that. She saw a kid who needed a hand and she gave you one. She's a mom and she recognized a kid who needed someone to be a mom to him. Let's see. Those aren't the clothes you came in with the first time I saw you, so I'm assuming she bought them for you. Those shoes in the corner look pretty new, too. You've had a haircut, and you don't look as scrawny as you did when you got here. She got you registered in a good school, in the makeup program and in the chess club – just because you enjoy it. So you tell me she's not a good woman and I will kick your butt from here to Fresno. She's raised her kids. She didn't have to take you on."

"I miss my mom," Rusty said, sounding much more like the sad 16-year-old he really was.

Andy nodded understandingly. "I know you do. My mom's been gone ten years and I still miss her. I can't make you do anything, but I think you owe Captain Raydor a big-time apology. And man to man? You're a coward if you don't apologize."

"She yelled at me."

"Did you yell at her?"

"Yeah."

"Fair trade. You get what you give. You give respect, you get it. So here's a friendly suggestion: stop making her life a living hell just because you're in a bad place. Been played a crappy hand? Yeah, you have. Now, though, you've got an opportunity to do better than be a whore who sucks guys off for eating money. But as long as you think of yourself that way, that's what you're gonna be. So be something better."

Rusty sat back as if Andy had physically struck him. "I can't believe you said that to me."

"What? You want to be treated like a man. Well, a man has to hear the truth, whether he likes it or not. You're no shrinking violet. Stand up to what you were, and to what you can be." Andy stood. "I'm going to get Captain Raydor in here, then I'm going home."

"You're not gonna stay to make sure I apologize?"

"Nope. That's on you." He walked outside to Sharon's car. "Hey. I tried to talk to him. Just FYI: I told him his mother might not be alive, if he asks. I feel for the kid. He's in a tough spot."

Sharon got out of the car. "Thank you, Andy. I know sometimes, a boy needs a man to talk to him, not a woman. I hope you got through to him."

Andy shrugged. "You never can tell with that kind. He needs counseling."

"He won't go. He's made that very clear."

"Figures. There's a good kid underneath all that, but what's on top is enough to drive you nuts."

Sharon nodded. "I suppose it's what he had to develop to survive on the streets. I can't imagine what he's been through."

"Do him a favor and don't feel sorry for him, though. Make him toe the line, Sharon. I know you didn't let your own kids get away with stuff. Don't let him, either. He'll run you down if you do."

"He doesn't want me telling him what to do. Ever."

"What teenager does? They all know every damn thing in the world. I did. Stand your ground."

Sharon smiled ruefully. "You're right, of course."

"Once in a while, I am. Nice of you to notice," he cracked. "But seriously, call me if you need me. Chief had one of those sayings of hers about kids who needed a knot jerked in their tails. If Rusty needs it, call me. I'll be glad to do it."

Sharon chuckled. "Apt description. I may take you up on that."

"I want you to, if you need to."

She turned to him. "Good night, Andy. And thank you again."

"You're welcome. Good night." They faced each other, with the only light coming from a nearby streetlight, shining on Sharon's face.

Andy's face was in shadow, but that didn't keep Sharon from feeling the tension. _He's going to kiss me_, she thought. _I can't let him._ She knew if she ever allowed him to kiss her, she would be lost. So, she smiled at him and scuttled inside the house as quickly as she could.

He stood for a moment, watching her go, hands on his hips. The air had been electric between them, though. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

When Raydor came into the murder room, Flynn thought she looked tired, as if she hadn't slept much. She did have a faint smile for him as she walked past his desk, but other than a soft "Good morning, everyone," she was quiet.

Provenza leaned back in his chair. "What's with her?"

"Kid's getting to her, I think," Flynn replied.

"He'd get to me, too. And I know exactly what I'd do with him," his partner said darkly.

Sanchez snickered. "Everything gets to you, sir," he said.

"Be quiet, Julio. I didn't ask for your opinion."

Sanchez laughed harder and turned back to his computer.

"I wonder why Rusty's mother left," Sykes said. "Why would she leave her child like that? Twice"

"That's the million dollar question, Detective," Flynn answered. "Why? Rusty wants to know the same thing, believe me. From what he told me, she's got a drinking problem, and probably a drug problem, too. Even if she was here, she'd be too unstable to be a fit parent, I'm betting."

Sykes really looked at Lieutenant Flynn. For an older guy, he was hot. But she knew from her service in Afghanistan that the older guys were most often the ones worth having. They were stable and steady under fire. Even if Flynn and Provenza were partners and best friends, Sykes thought Andy Flynn might be a prize to pursue. Assuming he had his drinking under control, that is.

She stood. "I need a cup of coffee. Can I get anyone else anything?" She looked at Sanchez.

"Yeah, with one cream, if you don't mind," he answered.

"O.K. Anything for the lieutenants?"

"Not for me, thanks," Tao replied. Provenza just grunted at her.

"As long as you're going, one black," Andy said.

"Sure, Lieutenant," Sykes answered. When she came back with the coffee, she placed the cup on Flynn's desk. "One, black."

"Oh hey, thanks, Sykes," he answered, taking the cup.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," she said, and the tone in her voice made Flynn look up. Interest sparkled in Sykes' eyes. Now, something he did _not_ need was Amy Sykes looking at him like that. He nodded at her and scowled at the computer screen, but wasn't sure if he had discouraged the detective at all.

He hadn't. Sykes was determined to go out with Flynn. Anything else would be a bonus, but a first date was a start, and she thought could get at least that much. Sanchez really wasn't her type, Tao was married and Provenza was an old grouch who hated her anyway, but Flynn was a different story entirely. She had some planning to do.

Flynn was no technology nut, but it had its uses, and one was an online missing persons forum. Tao had posted Sharon Beck's photo to the forum, and Flynn checked the site every couple of days. This morning, it looked like someone had posted.

"Tao. C'mere," he said.

"What's up?" the lieutenant answered, looking over Flynn's shoulder.

"See this? This is a new response to the Sharon Beck photo. Woman said she saw her in, let's see, Mesa, Arizona, she's certain. Two days ago."

"Really? Out of state again. No surprises there." He peered at the post. "Also doesn't say what name she used."

"Maybe the woman didn't know. Says she saw her in a dollar store."

"Well, that's the first thing we've had that looks anything like a lead," Tao answered.

Flynn nodded. "Yeah. I'll PM the woman and see if she has any more details, and if the woman she saw had anyone with her. I have a feeling Sharon Beck has dropped off the grid."

"I'll call the Mesa PD and see if they can track her down, assuming she's still in town," Tao said.

Raydor came out of her office. "Something up?" she asked.

"Maybe a lead on Rusty's mom in Mesa, Arizona. We're checking it out," Flynn answered.

Raydor nodded. "I hope we find out something. At this point, any information is better than nothing at all."

"No doubt."

Sykes looked up at the Captain. Something about the way she looked at Flynn made her suspicious. She could only see Flynn's profile, but there was an expression on his face that answered the gleam in the Captain's eyes. Flynn and Raydor? That required some thinking, as well as planning. Sykes sat back in her chair and watched them, but there was nothing else to see. Mutual attraction, but neither one doing anything about it? Could be. Well, as far as Sykes was concerned, the door was still wide open. Raydor couldn't complain. If she wasn't going to take Andy Flynn, Skyes had no problem stepping in. That was the way of the world. You snooze, you lose.

"Do we know if Sharon Beck has any ties in Arizona, any reason to go back? Family? Friends?" Tao asked.

Raydor shook her head. "I don't know, but I'll ask Rusty."

"If he knows anything. It may not end up anywhere, but it's more of a lead than we had this morning," Tao said.

Flynn checked his e-mail and said, "Hey, here's some good news. Philip Stroh is back in the hospital. One of those punctures in his lung reopened."

"He's suffering. That's good," Sanchez said.

"We're not going to plead _that_ piece of crap out, now are we?" Provenza asked of the air.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Raydor answered. "This is a special circumstances case. Unless his conscience starts hurting him, which I doubt, since he obviously doesn't possess one, Philip Stroh will eventually end up in the death chamber."

"I hope he gets diarrhea and lives forever," was Provenza's thoughtful reply, causing the squad to crack up.

"Chief may wrangle a confession out of him on the stand," Tao cracked.

Raydor actually grinned. "You know, I wouldn't mind seeing that, myself."

"Hey Captain. Just between us. Did you believe the Chief about Philip Stroh?" Sanchez asked.

Raydor looked thoughtful. "You know, I did. Chief Johnson is such a gifted investigator, I felt like she was on to something. I went back and watched all the interview footage. I think I saw the same thing she did, which was that there was something disturbing about the man. Honestly? He gave me the creeps every time he looked in my direction. The only other person I can compare him to in that way is that firebug – what was his name? Croelick? He made my skin crawl. And they both had that same look in their eyes." She shuddered. "I don't even necessarily disagree with her methods, as a woman. If he had made that crack about my mother, I might have attacked him, too. As the IA commanding officer, of course, I had to follow regulations, but really, there's nothing in the rulebook that covers _that_ sort of circumstance. I think it turned out for the best for all concerned, considering what could have happened."

* * *

By lunchtime, Flynn was more than ready to get out of the building. He turned to Provenza. "Come on. Let's go find something to eat."

_Damn_, Sykes thought. She had been planning to ask Flynn if he wanted to go to lunch with her, and she wasn't about to invite herself along if Provenza was going with him.

They were eating and Flynn said, "Something's up with Sykes."

"Yeah. She's an ass-kissing idiot, that's what," Provenza growled.

"Besides that. She was giving me some funny looks this morning. Like she's interested or something."

Provenza gave a short bark of laughter. "Interested in _you_? C'mon, Flynn. I wish she would go on back to Robbery where she came from, but she's a nice-looking woman. Why would she be interested in you?"

Flynn looked disgustedly at his partner. "Oh, so I can't get a nice-looking woman?" he retorted.

"Well, not _that_ nice looking, and not that young, either."

"So, old man, you can catch them at your age, but I can't. You are so full of it, it's pathetic."

Provenza harrumphed, "Maybe, but you shouldn't have any problems discouraging her. God knows you've been running women off for years."

"Says the veteran of not one, not two, not three, but _four_ marriages? Get over yourself."

"Finish your lunch, Flynn. I'm tired of watching you push your food around while you run your mouth."

"Shut up."

* * *

When they got back to the murder room, they saw Rusty sitting in the corner of the office, looking sullen. Provenza and Flynn looked at each other.

"That can't be good," Flynn said. He looked into Raydor's office. She was at her desk, forehead in her hands. He went to her door and knocked.

"Come in," he heard.

He walked inside. "What's going on?"

"The headmaster just brought Rusty here. He got in a fight. Again. What am I going to do with him? He's suspended for three days." Raydor looked heavenward.

"Send him to juvie for those three days," Flynn said.

Raydor looked at him, horrified. "I can't do that to him!"

"Sure you can. Look. If you grounded him, he'd just do what he wasn't supposed to, anyway. If you don't do something, he'll run all over you. Let him cool his heels in juvie for three days, with the understanding that, unless he straightens up and behaves himself, that's a permanent situation. You can get him in solitary, which might be good for him. That kid needs some time to think."

"He'll hate me," she answered.

Flynn shrugged. "He's a teenager. They hate everything and everybody. But he will know you're serious about him behaving himself, and he might even find a tiny speck of gratitude somewhere. I'll make it easy on you. I'll take him."

"_You_ will? Why?"

"Because it will make it easier for you. He can hate me instead. I can take it." He grinned at her.

"I don't want to do this."

Andy leaned over Sharon's desk. "What are your options, Sharon? Leave him here all day for the next three days? Leave him at home? You know you can't do that. He'll be gone. This puts him in a place where people can keep an eye on him, plus it gives you some leverage. Do it once and I guarantee you won't have to do it again."

"What if he runs away when he gets back to my place?"

"Like I said, his release is on the condition that he gets it together. If he runs away and we find him, he goes back to juvie, and he doesn't get out for two years. At some point, he has to understand that someone is going to be taking care of him until he's 18, and he can make the decision on who that is."

"Before I go to that extreme, let me see if I can reason with him."

"Be my guest. I hope it works." He started to leave.

"Please stay. I have an idea."

Andy sat down. "O.K."

Sharon went to her door. "Rusty, come in here, please."

He just sat there, staring at her. "Rusty?" she said. He turned his head.

Provenza stood. "I have had _enough_ of this!" He went to the boy. "Captain Raydor wants you in her office. Get in there."

Rusty flipped him off. "Go to hell."

Provenza narrowed his eyes at the kid, then looked at Sanchez. "Julio? Come here and you and I are going to _escort_ Mr. Beck to Captain Raydor's office!"

Julio went to Rusty. "Get up or I will make you get up."

He flipped off Julio, too. Sanchez shrugged, got behind Rusty and hoisted him up under his armpits.

"Let me go! This is assault!" Rusty yelled.

"Nobody here saw anything," Provenza informed him. "Take him to see the Captain, will you, Julio?"

"Yes sir," Sanchez answered. He threw Rusty over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and took him into Raydor's office. He dumped him in the other chair. "Sit and don't move, or I'll sit on _you_," he said.

Flynn was grinning broadly. This kid had no idea what hit him. Raydor smiled pleasantly. "Thank you for coming in here, Rusty. I've been considering what to do with you since you are suspended and cannot go on campus for three days."

"Let me stay home like other kids."

"Ahh, but that's the problem, Rusty. You're not like other kids. You're a witness in a murder trial, I'm you're temporary guardian and you are most definitely a flight risk. I can't trust you not to run, I'm afraid."

"So now what? Put me in juvie?"

"That was Lieutenant Flynn's suggestion, and it's not a bad idea. You'd be supervised and might learn you don't have it quite as tough as you think you do. But no, I have an idea that I think might be just as instructive."

Rusty didn't like Sharon's tone or her expression. "What?"

"Well, I've always thought it was a good thing for young people to understand work, real work. The kind that gets your hands dirty. So, for the next three days, I'm going to have you accompany the building's cleaning crew as they do their jobs. You can assist them in doing their daily work. It will keep you out of mischief and you'll be supervised."

Flynn snickered. Raydor had a diabolical streak. He had known it, and this was a great way to handle the situation, he thought.

"Are you freaking serious?" Rusty exploded. "The cleaning crew! I am NOT a slave!"

"No, you're a 16-year-old suspended for fighting at school and you're participating in an opportunity to learn self-discipline," Raydor answered evenly.

"And it's either this or three days in juvenile detention, and I'll take you there personally," Flynn said with a smile. "So you've got a choice: coveralls or cuffs. I worked as a plumber's helper in high school and on a construction crew before I went to the academy. I've always found that hard work helps you clear your head and helps you think. It's good for you."

"Screw you," Rusty snapped.

"Your choice, kid," Flynn replied.

"I am NOT A KID!" Rusty screamed.

Raydor started out of her chair, but Flynn got to the boy first, and stood over his chair, one hand on either arm. "Stop yelling," he said. "And yes, you are a kid. Even though you've lived on the streets, you're a kid. You think like a kid. You have very little self-control. You don't look past the right now, or consider the consequences of your actions. A man recognizes when he screws up and takes his medicine. This is your medicine. It's your decision how to take it." He straightened up.

"O.K., O.K. I'll work," Rusty said, his tone sullen.

"And by work, Rusty, I mean work. You don't get to stand around. If someone on the crew asks you to do something, you will do it," Raydor said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Flynn turned to Rusty. "It's not going to work, Captain. Rusty's determined to be a punk. I say, treat him like one." He pulled his coat back and took his cuffs off his belt.

Rusty's blue eyes met Flynn's onyx ones. The man was not bluffing. No way, no how. There was no bluff in his face. "No, I'll work. Whatever they tell me to do, all right?"

"We'll see how you do today, then, and if you work hard, you'll come in with me tomorrow," Raydor said, her tone pleasant.

"Fine, Sharon. That's cool," he answered, still looking warily at Andy, who slowly returned his cuffs to his belt.

"That's settled then. I'll call the maintenance chief. Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant Flynn and Detective Sanchez. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Captain," Flynn said and he and Julio left.

"That's dirty pool, having your crew gang up on me like that," Rusty groused.

Sharon smiled at him. "I use the resources I have. Remember the talk we had about civility? You never did tell me what the fight was about this time."

"Asshole said I was pretty and looked like a porn star."

Sharon raised her eyebrows. "You didn't put him in the infirmary this time, I hope?"

"No. I wanted to."

"I understand, but you must learn to control your temper. Did you have these problems before – before your mother left?"

"I got along," was Rusty's terse answer.

Sharon sighed. "I'll take that as a yes. Well, I'm going to have to insist you talk to someone. Don't look at me like that. We've talked at length about you taking advantage of opportunities. This is a chance to gain valuable coping skills that will assist you throughout your life. You must get a handle on your impulses. You can't just lash out at people like that. In the end, it will cost you dearly. Believe it or not, I care about what happens to you in the long term, Rusty. You should know that, surely."

He shrugged. "I guess."

Sharon gave him a rueful half-smile. "From a 16-year-old, I'll take an 'I guess.' I know it's all I'm going to get right now." The maintenance chief knocked on her door. "Time for work, Rusty," she said.

"I'm so excited," he answered.

After Rusty left with the cleaning crew, Flynn went back to Raydor's office. "Have you eaten anything?" he asked.

"No. I really haven't felt like it," she answered.

"Come on. I'm taking you down to the cafeteria, and you're eating something. You need to get out of this office for a few minutes."

"I can't, Lieutenant."

"Captain. _Sharon_. Stand up and come with me to the cafeteria. Now."

Sharon narrowed her eyes at Andy. "Are you giving me an order, _Lieutenant_?" she said, emphasizing his rank, her voice cold.

It didn't faze him. "I sure am. For your welfare. You look like you're about to drop as it is. You need to get out of this office for a while and decompress."

"I'm betting you never did this to Chief Johnson."

"You'd lose that bet. But at least the Chief usually had a candy bar or something in her purse, and that full candy drawer in her desk. You don't. Somebody has to look after you."

"And you've taken on the job, Lieutenant?"

"We all have. Can't have you falling over at your desk because you haven't eaten in 18 hours. Now get moving." Andy's tone was decided.

"Stubborn, pig-headed…" she began.

"Yeah, yeah. All of it and more. Get your rear in gear, Captain. Or I'll get Julio to haul you into the cafeteria like a sack of potatoes."

"And he'd do it, too. All _right_. I'll go. I'm not hungry, but I'll go."

"You're going, and you're eating something, if I have to feed you myself."

Sharon's eyes widened. "I was planning on having dinner when I got home."

"Sounds great. You can eat now too, for good measure. Otherwise, you might keel over before you got home to dinner." He grinned at her frustration. "Look, Sharon. You can't take care of a teenager if you're not taking care of yourself."

Damn him, he knew right where to get her. It wasn't fair. "Fine, Lieutenant. Let's go."

Andy's smug grin made her want to slap him. But all he said was, "After you, Captain."

Sykes saw the two of them leave the murder room and scowled. If Flynn was going somewhere with Raydor, that didn't fit in with her plans. She needed to move things along a bit, obviously.

Flynn mostly bullied Raydor into getting a bowl of baked potato soup and watched her take every bite.

She drank some water and looked at him. "You were right. I did need to eat."

He just nodded.

"I need to apologize to you. Calling you a worm yesterday was completely unprofessional. I'm sorry."

Andy grinned. "No worries. That's practically a pet name compared to what my exes have called me."

"And thank you again for talking to Rusty – last night and today. I'm just not tough enough, I suppose."

Andy laughed. "Are you kidding me? Captain, you're as tough as they come. You spent how many years in IA and eight of those dealing with Brenda Leigh Johnson? You'd have to be tough to keep from running out of here screaming."

Sharon gave him a genuine smile. "Thank you. But for a kid who's seen and been through what Rusty has, I think a strong male figure is a necessity."

"Well, the problem with fighting is that, eventually, you're gonna meet somebody who's badder than you are and can kick your ass. The sooner he figures that out, the better off he'll be."

"I told him part of the deal of him staying out of juvie was to agree to counseling."

Andy nodded. "Good thinking. You've got to use what leverage you can. If the fear of juvie is what does it, that's what you use. One day, hopefully, he'll get to the point where he does it because he realizes you care about him. Until then, you do what you have to do to keep him safe and help him turn his life around."

"I thought I knew what it was like to raise children," she said. "I feel so inadequate in this situation."

"Don't. Rusty was raised in the kind of environment that turns kids into criminals. You didn't raise your kids that way. My kids weren't raised that way. You've got the tools to do this right. Don't sell yourself short."

Sharon did what she knew was dangerous: she looked into Andy's eyes. They twinkled at her, but they were also sincere. "Thank you. Tell me, Lieutenant. Have you ever thought about counseling as a second career?"

That prompted a wide grin. "Nah. I'll just write a book: 'What I Learned in AA,' by Andy, age six. Everybody publishes online now. I could make a million bucks, easy."

Sharon shook her head. Andy would offer any amount of advice when asked, but he wouldn't let you inside. Did anyone get past _his_ armor? Besides his sponsor? Sharon had a feeling she could, if she tried. No. No. He was essentially a kind man, but she couldn't remind herself often enough that she didn't need another alcoholic in her personal life. _"But he's already there,"_ a tiny voice whispered. She ignored it ruthlessly. "Thank you again, Lieutenant. I think we'd better get back upstairs."

"Sure, Captain. Anything you say," he replied, that teasing tone back in his voice.

* * *

Before she left for the day, Sykes walked by Flynn's desk. She was a modern woman and didn't mind making the first move. "Hey, Lieutenant. I'm getting some dinner on my way home. Care to join me?"

Crap. Dinner didn't have to lead to anything else, and someone needed to help Sykes feel like she was a part of the team, but Andy knew she had ulterior motives that included way more than just getting a bite to eat. There were ways to keep it professional, though. "Where did you have in mind? I'll meet you," he said.

"Little Lebanese place over by the old courthouse?"

"Yeah, I know where that is. Sounds fine."

It wasn't what Sykes wanted. What she wanted was for them to be in the same vehicle, the better to get closer. But she'd take what she could get.

"Lieutenant Tao and Julio both said it wasn't personal, but why does Provenza hate me?" They had finished their meal.

Andy chuckled. "He doesn't hate you. He hates change. And Chief Johnson leaving, Captain Raydor coming on board, well, it's just a lot for him to deal with. He honestly thought he would be the head of the Major Crimes division, and he's disappointed."

"What's with him and the Captain, anyway?"

Andy shook his head. "Long story, old history, some bad blood. I recommend you keep your eyes and ears open and don't be, you know, such a perky little Girl Scout around Raydor. You're a good detective, but you're not used to dealing with the crap we deal with. Robbery, Domestic, Vice – that's triple-A ball. Narcotics, Homicide, Gang unit, Major Crimes? Those divisions are the big leagues. I don't know how much you know about this division, but it was started as Priority Homicide in 2005. Except for me, we were all hand-picked for that squad."

"So how did you get in?"

"Not because I deserved it, that's for damn sure. Taylor put me in that division part-time to be his spy, more or less. I thought Chief Johnson was just a wannabe, so I went along with it for a while. Then I found out that Russell Taylor was out for number one, and didn't care whose ass was left swinging in the wind – mine included. Chief Johnson didn't let me swing, and I transferred to this unit from Homicide. But she personally approved the transfer. She was willing to give me a chance. I hope I always came through for her."

Sykes was thoughtful. "Wow. So Major Crimes – you guys are like the All-Star team."

"Sort of. So you've got a hell of a chance to make good, Sykes. Make the most of it."

"Thanks for the background. I'll do my best." A beat, then, "Would you like to come back to my place? Watch a movie or something?"

Andy groaned inwardly. "Thanks for the offer, but no."

"You don't like movies?" Her tone was all innocence.

"I love movies, but you don't have movies on your mind. I'm flattered. I really am. It's flattering for an old guy like me to have a good-looking young lady like you be interested, but no."

_Damn_. That didn't turn out like she wanted. At all. "If you change your mind, Lieutenant…" her voice trailed off.

"Like I said: thanks for the offer. I do appreciate it, believe me. Have a good night, Detective. Be careful going home."

"You too, Lieutenant."

Andy drove home, feeling like he had dodged a sniper's bullet. And, he had a headache.


	5. Chapter 5: Hot and Cold

**A/N:** For some reason, the muse has been good to me for this story. And all the reviews really help! :) Thanks again! You guys are the greatest! For those hinting about moving it along between Sharon and Andy: all in good time. ;) There will be a payoff, I promise! For now, enjoy and please continue to R&R! P.S. And the cold case? Ripped from some very old headlines. I couldn't make up this kind of stuff. Names have been changed, obviously.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Hot and Cold**

Raydor and Rusty walked into the murder room, so he could meet up with the maintenance crew for the day.

"So how'd it go yesterday, Captain?" Tao asked.

Before she could answer, Rusty said, "Thanks so much for asking. I'm sore as hell and I've got blisters on my hands because nobody thought I needed gloves."

"We've taken care of that, Rusty," Raydor said.

"I scrubbed so many crappy toilets, I nearly got sick in one of them," Rusty snapped.

Flynn and Provenza looked at each other and Flynn rolled his eyes.

"What, Lieutenant Flynn? You just wanted to pack me off to juvie!"

"Yeah, but this is so much better, don't you think?" he said with a smirk.

"Go f- away," Rusty amended, seeing the glare Sharon was giving him.

Flynn rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "See this? This is the world's smallest violin playing, 'My heart cries for you.' Grow up."

"Screw you!"

"Rusty! In my office, now!" Sharon snapped. She slammed the door when they got inside. "Respect. Civility. Remember? You caused all that with your smart mouth! You should know by now that my squad isn't going to treat you with kid gloves when you act like a punk, and they shouldn't have to! They've faced things that would make even you wet your pants, and they've done it for not enough pay and for too many hours over the years. They do it because they care about keeping people like you safe from the predators who used to pay you for sex. They have more than earned the respect their badges command, and I am not going to ask them to take less than that from you, or anyone! Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain," he replied. He was slouched down in his chair, chin on his chest.

Sharon knelt down beside his chair. "Rusty, I know I'm not asking for the moon, here. I'm not asking you to be a perfect person. I'm asking of you exactly what I asked of my children: civility and respect. That's it. If you can maintain that most of the time, your life everywhere will be so much more pleasant. You have the self-discipline to play chess and win. Use that self-discipline in your life away from the chess board, and things will change for the better."

"Where's my mom, Sharon?" His voice was heartbreaking.

"I don't know. A week ago, she may have been spotted in Mesa, Arizona, but their police department came up empty-handed. She left and we don't know where she went. We're still looking, but it's harder now. She's withdrawn all the cash from her credit card and she's dropped off the grid."

"That guy in Bakersfield made her do that."

"Very likely. But it still doesn't make our jobs any easier. We're still looking, I promise you."

"Flynn said she might be dead."

Sharon sighed. "As much as I hate to say it, it is a possibility. I certainly hope not, but it's something we must consider." She looked at the clock. "Time to start working. I'll see you later."

He nodded and walked out of the office, head down. Sharon stared after him, knowing she was doing the right thing, but wishing she could go to him and take him out for pizza, instead.

She went back into the murder room. Tao spoke up, "Captain? I got an e-mail from Lieutenant Swoopes in Birmingham. The federal judge released Concepcion to the state of Alabama. He's awaiting arraignment, I suppose to give him a chance to plead guilty. That's the only way he escapes death row."

She nodded slowly. "Am I a terrible person for hoping he rolls the dice and loses?" She had taken a look at the crime scene photos, and had read the newspaper articles online.

"Nope," Provenza said. "You're a police officer. That's the way we're supposed to feel." His tone was gruff, as usual, but Raydor caught a hint of something friendly in it.

Detective Sykes strolled into the murder room, and it was obvious she was bringing out the heavy artillery. Normally, she wore earth tones, or black. Today, she had on a white blazer, form-fitting black slacks, and an eye-popping aqua tank top that hugged every curve. She looked fantastic, but Flynn just shook his head. She was a good-looking woman, no doubt. Hot, even. But Flynn's eyes naturally sought out the woman with the dark auburn hair, green eyes and curves that made him wish he was 30 years younger. Sharon always dressed well. Today, it was the lavender skirt and blazer he liked so much, with a cream top. He still hadn't figured out how she – or the Chief, for that matter – walked in those high heels, but he loved what they did for her legs.

Sykes seated herself and Julio looked her over. "_Muy bien_," he said.

She smiled at him. Could she make Flynn a little jealous, she wondered? "Good morning, Julio," she replied and turned on her computer.

Provenza shot Flynn a look, but he just rolled his eyes. Maybe Sykes _was_ interested in Flynn. Would wonders never cease? He wasn't taking the bait, though. Looked right through her, in fact. But when Raydor walked by, Provenza saw from behind his paper that Flynn's eyes followed _her_. And she looked his way, too. Did Raydor and Flynn have a case for each other? Not possible. Sure, Flynn had a reason to feel more charitable toward Raydor since she kept her mouth shut about his relapse, but anything else? No way. Good God. He was in a soap opera. He flipped his paper back up.

Flynn's phone rang and he picked up. "Flynn. Yes, Mrs. Peebles, I remember you. What's going on?" His eyes widened and he motioned Provenza over. "Just one minute, Ma'am," and he clicked on the speakerphone. "Now, Mrs. Peebles, you said you knew something about a cold case?"

"I sure do," she answered. "Were you here in 1977?"

"No, I came here in 1982."

"Well, I was still in Mississippi then, myself, but my neighbor here has a nephew who was convicted of two rapes. He didn't do it, but I know who did. My son is going to have a fit that I called, but this has been heavy on my heart, Lieutenant."

"What was the name of the man convicted?"

"Grady Joe Gordon. But it wasn't him."

Flynn looked at Provenza. He nodded. "Yeah. I remember that case," he said, low.

"Who did it, then?" Flynn asked.

"Hoodlum named Kevin Washington. You find their pictures and look at them side by side," she said.

"All right. Mrs. Peebles, would you like to come to the police station so we can talk to you? I'll have an officer pick you up."

"That sounds fine. I won't be able to sleep a wink until I tell this."

"O.K. We'll see you in a bit, then." He ended the call and looked at Provenza. "Well?"

"Well, what? I was just a beat cop then. Hey Tao, can you find out who the detective was on that case?"

"Sure." He looked up the records. "Tim Martin. And let me print out the photos of the two people Mrs. Peebles mentioned."

"Martin. He just retired a couple of years ago. I'll give him a call," Provenza said.

The printer hummed and Tao picked up the two photos and looked at them. He whistled low. He got up and tacked them on the wall. "Eerie." The two men looked enough alike to be brothers. "Here's something else. Kevin Washington was out on bond for a rape charge when the Gordon rapes supposedly occurred. He went back to jail four months after the incidents for, guess what?"

"Rape," Andy said and Tao nodded. "So what was the evidence against Gordon?"

"One of the victims picked him out of a lineup. He worked at a local grocery store where she shopped, and that's how they developed him as a suspect."

Raydor came out of her office. "What's going on?"

Flynn replied, "Possible cold case, Captain. Not sure there's anything to it, but we'll see."

When Mrs. Peebles arrived, she was impressed with the murder room. "Don't you all have quite a place, here? See all over town out the windows!"

Flynn grinned at her. "Mrs. Peebles, these are the Major Crimes detectives. Why don't you follow me into our conference room, where you'll be comfortable? Can I get you some coffee?"

"That would be nice, Lieutenant." Flynn got the woman into the conference room and went to get her coffee, after making sure Buzz had the cameras on.

Flynn, Raydor, Provenza and Tao gathered in the conference room while Flynn conducted the interview. "Thank you for coming down here, Mrs. Peebles. Please tell me what's up."

"Well, as I told you, my neighbor's nephew is Grady Joe Gordon. He did not rape those women."

"How do you know?"

"Grady Joe couldn't. I mean, there's fancy terms for it now, but when I was coming up, we'd have said he was simple. About like a five-year-old in his mind. No way he could have done that."

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but the case records said Mr. Gordon worked at a grocery store," Tao said.

She nodded. "He did. He carried grocery bags for customers. He collected the carts from the parking lot. He was fine doing easy things like that. I've been with Doris to see him a couple of times. There is no way he could have done this. None at all."

Flynn was taking notes. "So why do you think this Kevin Washington was responsible?"

"I saw those pictures on your board out there. Did you look at them? They're just alike. Kevin was out on bond for rape when those two women were attacked. He's pulling a life sentence for rape, now."

"So why tell us? Why not let Grady's aunt do it? And how did she know all this about Washington, anyway?"

"Doris has the cancer and she's not able. I am. I want to put her mind at rest before she passes. A reporter talked to her a few years ago about it. He talked to that no-count piece of trash Washington, too. Boy all but came out and said he did it. His own mama says he did it. And that reporter was so good to Doris, and to Grady Joe. You know, they've got him in the state hospital, which is fine, because he hasn't got a soul to take care of him. Doris surely can't. But every time Corey went to see Grady, he'd bring him a couple of dollars so he could get a candy bar at the canteen. The family has to provide their spending money, you know. And Corey did it. He never did write the story because he said there was too much left undone. But Doris told me about a piece of evidence you people have that could clear Grady Joe."

Flynn was fascinated by her tale, and a quick glance around the table told the same story. In the electronics room, Buzz, Sykes and Sanchez were riveted to the screen. "What's the evidence, Mrs. Peebles?"

"A pair of one of the women's drawers she had on."

"You mean underwear?" Provenza asked.

"I do. And those drawers never were tested for anything. They didn't do that then. Corey tried to get the paper to pay to have them tested five or six years ago, but they wouldn't do it. Now, Kevin Washington lived a block from where both women were attacked. That tells me something."

Flynn nodded in agreement, still writing furiously. "Me too. Would Doris be willing to talk to us?"

"I doubt it, but Corey would. He's still at the paper. Corey Summers. You call him. Doris, she's been worryin' about this for months. She promised Grady's mama before she died that she would make sure his name was cleared. So I decided I'd do something."

Raydor sat back. What a story! "Mrs. Peebles, excuse me and Lieutenants Flynn and Tao for just a couple of moments, please." She motioned them into her office. "What do you want to do? Lieutenant Tao, can we test those panties for DNA? Would it have degraded too much to be of any use?"

He shrugged. "Hard to say, but if they've been in the evidence room, they're bagged, so certainly it's possible we'll get something. And Washington's DNA is on file. Even a partial match would be enough to clear Grady."

"I really think we ought to do this, Captain," Flynn said. "If for no other reason, then it lets the people of LA know we want justice, too. Not like there would even be a trial, necessarily. Washington's in prison for life on the three strikes law. The only money spent really, would be for the DNA test."

Raydor nodded. "I agree. Lieutenant Tao, can you get those panties and get them to SID? And Lieutenant Flynn, can you have that reporter come down here in the next couple of days? Provenza said he'd call Detective Martin, so that's handled. As long as we don't catch a fresh body, so to speak, this isn't costing the department anything except, as you said, whatever it will cost to test that underwear. And if it clears Grady Gordon, any other costs will be secondary. So, let's look around and see what we find."

When they returned to the conference room, Raydor said, "Mrs. Peebles, thank you so much for coming in and telling your story. We're going to have the underwear tested and we'll see what develops from there."

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciates it. I'll tell Doris. Maybe she'll rest a little easier, herself."

Flynn escorted the woman back downstairs and saw her into the black and white, with promises he would keep her updated.

There was always a certain excitement about looking into an old case, Flynn thought. Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes could catch something that seemed insignificant at the time, but now meant everything.

When Tim Martin walked in, Flynn chuckled to himself. Martin had apparently retired to the beach. His gray hair was long and in a ponytail, he wore flip-flops, board shorts, a puka shell necklace and a T-shirt. Flynn greeted him and listened.

"Yeah, I never really liked Gordon for this, but what could I do? The D.A. was pushing hard for a quick conviction."

"Did Washington not come up on your radar?" Provenza asked.

Martin shook his head regretfully. "The victims were so sure Gordon was the man, that we never could get probable cause to get Washington in here. Seems like he had some kind of alibi for the time of the rapes, but I don't think we checked it out like we should have. Like I said: the D.A. was screaming for a conviction. He was in the chief's office every day about it."

"For two rapes? Why was he yelling like that? Rapes happen every day in this town," Flynn said. It was sad, but true.

"One of the victims was a community leader. She ran a soup kitchen. Come to think of it, that's probably where Washington came into contact with her. Anyway, a bunch of citizens groups were giving the D.A. and the LAPD hell about not caring about victims. They had gone to all the TV stations, and they were everywhere we went."

"Figures," Flynn answered. "Do you know Corey Summers, the reporter?"

Martin nodded. "Yeah, he's one of the good guys. He interviewed me several years ago, when he was just a cub reporter. I think he knew something was bad on that case, too. Are you going to talk to him?"

"Probably," Flynn replied.

"Tell him I said hi, and also to bring his clippings file with him. You'll want to read the original stories on this one. I went back and read them and I'm convinced we should have fought harder to keep Grady Joe from being charged. He didn't do it."

"Mrs. Esther Peebles is who contacted me. She's a neighbor of Grady Joe's aunt, who is apparently sick with cancer and wants to see Grady get some justice," Flynn explained.

Martin nodded. "I'd like to see that, myself. Well, my notes are all in the shoebox. If you need anything else, give me a call. Call me in any case to let me know how this turns out. Good to see you again, Provenza."

"You too, Tim. Give my love to Leslie." They shook hands all around and Martin left the murder room.

Flynn shook his head. "He looks ten years younger than either one of us."

"That's what retirement will do for you," Provenza answered. "He runs a charter boat service out of Marina Del Rey."

"Wonder if he needs a deckhand," Flynn said.

"Two of them," Provenza agreed. The murder room had emptied out and Provenza rolled his chair next to Flynn's desk. "You think Sykes really is interested in you?" he asked.

"Know so. She asked me out to dinner last night."

"_She_ asked you? What did you do?"

"Went in separate cars. It was all you know, two co-workers having a bite to eat, and then she asked me back to her place to 'watch a movie,' she said." Flynn raised his eyebrows.

"Damn! She didn't waste any time, did she? What did you tell her?"

"That an old guy like me was flattered, but no thanks. She seemed to take it all right, but I think the way she's dressed for work today was for my benefit."

"That's brass for you. I like 'em young, but I'm enough of an old fart that I still like to make the first move."

"Me too," Flynn agreed.

"So, you suppose Raydor's gonna end up killing that kid?" Provenza said in a conversational tone.

"Nah. I think the little creep's starting to grow on her. She feels needed."

Provenza shot his partner a dirty look. "How do _you_ know?"

"I'm a detective, remember? I've got eyes."

"Yeah, so what do you think about this whole Grady Joe Gordon case?"

"Gut reaction? They charged the wrong guy. But I've been wrong before," Flynn answered.

"Well, it's going to be interesting to see how this whole thing plays out."

At Flynn's request, Corey Summers had sent over copies of the clippings from the original stories about Gordon, and Andy was reading through them. "Wow. This was a real nightmare," he said.

"I remember it, but what was up?" Provenza asked.

"Well, Summers' paper, the LA Herald, was supporting us, while the Times was screaming for Gordon's head."

"I know it was a big deal, since the Watts riots were still on everybody's mind."

"Nobody in Gordon's neighborhood would even entertain the idea that he was guilty. They all said he would never hurt anyone. Washington's neighbors were plenty scared of him, though. A reporter interviewed a few of the women after he was arrested after the Gordon crimes. They all said they knew he was trouble. Summers should have been a cop. He's got good instincts," Flynn said.

* * *

Meanwhile, Raydor was in Taylor's office. "Captain Raydor, why are we testing evidence from a 35-year-old closed case?"

"We had a very concerned citizen who had information about the case, and I thought it behooved the department to make sure we arrested the right person, even 35 years later. If the DNA is unrecoverable, or matches the person who was convicted, that's the end of it," Raydor answered.

"And if not?"

"We do a little more investigating. Chief Taylor, we don't have an open case right now, so it's not as if we're diverting resources that are needed elsewhere. Right now, we're just looking into it. If there's nothing to find, we move on."

"And if there is something to find? What then?"

Raydor smiled sweetly at Taylor. "You wouldn't want it all over the front page that the LAPD knew they got the wrong person, and did nothing about it, now would you?"

"Is that some kind of threat?"

"Not at all. But our concerned citizen wouldn't hesitate to call the paper. That's all I'm telling you."

Taylor scowled at her. "Captain Raydor, I'm afraid the bad habits of some of the people in your division are starting to rub off on you. I'm starting to wonder about your priorities." He found himself on the receiving end of the full on Raydor Glare.

"Chief Taylor, my priorities have not changed. I am head of an elite division that investigates serious crimes. I want the perpetrators of these crimes brought to justice." Each word was like an icicle breaking. "It is true that my _perspective_ on this division has changed, but that comes as a result of working there every day. We're closing cases quickly, and the prosecutors are helping us get the criminals behind bars, without the cost of a trial. My priorities are right where they've always been." She stood, arms folded, giving him the same stare that had made Brenda Leigh Johnson's blood run cold.

How did she manage to deliver such a scathing rebuke without raising her voice? He couldn't even bring her up on insubordination. She hadn't said anything actionable. But he knew he had been severely reprimanded. It stung. "Thank you for your assurances, Captain," he said.

"Anytime, Chief Taylor," she replied, and turning on her heel, stalked out of his office.

Raydor was fuming when she got back to the murder room, and Flynn could see it all over her. He gave her time to sit down and collect her thoughts, then he went to the breakroom for a cup of coffee and took it to her office. He knocked on her door and heard an impatient, "Come in."

He walked in without a word and placed the cup on her desk, then sat down. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she murmured and took a long pull at the coffee.

"What's up, Captain? What's eating you?"

She sighed. "Taylor." She knew Flynn was well acquainted with the man and could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

"Let me guess. He was giving you hell about testing that underwear for DNA."

"How did you know?"

"ESP. I also know he's got a snitch in SID."

"Who is it?"

Flynn shook his head. "Not sure. I just know there is one. He's always had one. You know, as long as he was Commander Taylor, and didn't have a solid place in the LAPD, he was actually helpful. Some people do not need to be in positions of authority. He's one of them. The worst part is that he and the Pope are just alike in one way: they will sell you down the river if they think you're getting in the way of their ambitions. Don't trust him, Captain. He doesn't have your back unless his is getting scratched, too."

Raydor nodded ruefully. "You're right, of course, Lieutenant. And I know this. But it's a little discouraging that I really don't have a supervisor I can count on. At least Chief Johnson had Chief Pope."

"Ha!" he snorted. "As long as he thought the Chief was either, a) going to sleep with him; or b) not threaten his position. He started pulling back when she was named for the short list as Police Chief back in '09. She got a lot less support after that. She was kind of on her own, and us with her."

Raydor closed her eyes in frustration. "It's an iniquitous system," she said.

"Yeah. No doubt. Top to bottom," Flynn replied. "Police work and politics don't mix."

Raydor took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I used to think Chief Johnson just didn't play very well with others, and in many ways, she didn't. Now, I see what she was up against, though. Even when we do it strictly by the book, we still get flak. I was just insulated from it in Internal Affairs. Pissing me off meant they might be investigated for something. I don't have that, now."

"No," Flynn agreed, "but you were head of IA. That means you know enough about how it's supposed to be done, according to the book, that you can always suggest an investigation be opened." His grin was malicious.

"You're evil, Lieutenant Flynn," she said.

"Sometimes that's how you get by," he answered and stood. "Yell if you need to vent," he said and left her office.

She watched him go. It just wasn't fair. She was his commanding officer, and he was a recovering alcoholic. And she expected life to be fair...?

* * *

Sharon went into the empty murder room and saw Andy sitting at his desk. He didn't hear her; he was deep into reading the clippings from the Gordon case. He was bent over a folder, intent on the text. She approached him from behind, making no noise on the carpet. There was a spot, right at the nape of his neck, just below his hairline and above his collar, that intrigued her. She crept closer still, and pressed her lips to that exact place on his skin. She heard what sounded like a growl come from deep in his chest. She let her lips trail around to his earlobe, where she nibbled gently, then down to his jawline, and finally, to his lips. His mouth was as hot and delicious as she'd always thought it would be.

Andy's arms came around her like steel, crushing her to his chest, as he devoured her mouth, then kissed her neck, down to where it joined to her shoulder. She could feel his teeth gently rasping the skin there and he slipped one hand to her breast, cupping it and kneading it gently. Even through the fabric of her blouse and bra, she could feel the heat of his hand. When he flicked her nipple, incredibly, an orgasm knifed through her body.

Sharon came awake, suddenly, her heart pounding and her body throbbing. She looked around in her dark bedroom, orienting herself. She reached for the bottle of water on her nightstand and drank. Now she was having sexy dreams about Andy. Great. Just great. How was she supposed to work with the man when she was dreaming about jumping his bones? She really needed to take a day off.


	6. Chapter 6: One Game to Play

**A/N:** A little plot development. The good stuff is coming, folks, I promise. I know I sound like a broken record, but thanks so much for all the reviews. They help keep me motivated and inspired. Hope you enjoy the latest, and R&R!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 6: One Game to Play**

Flynn was already at his desk when Raydor and Rusty arrived the next morning.

He glanced up. "Morning, Captain, Rusty. That reporter, Corey Summers, will be here at 9:30, if you want to sit in."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I do want to hear what he has to say."

"But not what I have to say," Rusty grumbled under his breath.

Raydor chose to ignore the comment but Flynn shot the boy a glare. "Rusty, sit," he said, pointing to the chair beside his desk.

"No."

"Sit. Give Captain Raydor five minutes from having to put up with your smart mouth."

"Maybe the social worker says she can tell me what to do, but you can't!"

"In this murder room, yes I can. My badge says so. Do it," he said.

Flynn had a point. Raydor needed to stand her ground with Rusty, she thought. He didn't have a problem doing it. Of course, he didn't have to live with the little devil. "Do as Lieutenant Flynn suggests. I need to make a phone call or two," she said pleasantly and went into her office.

Rusty flopped into the chair indicated and crossed his arms. He sat sullenly for a minute or two, then said, "Where's my mom?"

Flynn shook his head. "Rusty, I don't know. I wish I did. Really."

More silence and then, out of the blue, "She drinks too much."

Flynn turned to face the boy. "I figured that out. Drugs too?"

He nodded. "Why do people who do that have kids? I didn't ask for this!"

"No you didn't. My kids didn't ask for it either, but it didn't keep me from drinking."

"You drink?"

"Today, I don't. But yes, I have. I had a relapse recently, too. Thank God, I didn't lose my job, but I could have. Easily. The AA Big Book says this is a cunning and baffling disease. That's so true. Some people think when they have kids, they'll quit drinking for the kids. Sometimes, they make it for a while. But they always go back to it."

"How long have you been in AA?"

"Over 15 years, and until a few weeks ago, had maintained my sobriety that long. Then, I slipped. I went on a three-day bender. Provenza and the Captain found me in my apartment, drunk off my ass. I went to a 14-day rehab program and got my feet back under me. I'm grateful. But it could happen again. Any day, it could happen. I think I forgot that for a while. I thought I was drinking for the right reasons, and I ignored that there are no right reasons to drink if you're a drunk. Period."

So few people had been truly honest with Rusty in his short life that Flynn's raw sincerity was staggering. He listened carefully. Flynn didn't shift the blame to anyone else. He didn't try to say it was someone else's fault. He took full responsibility for his relapse. He didn't even blame his addiction. Rusty had met a lot of addicts, and he had never known one who didn't have someone – or something – else to blame. "Yeah, but you're an addict. Maybe you couldn't help taking a drink."

"I was stone cold sober when I made the choice to get drunk. I was sober when I bought the bourbon. I made a conscious, sober decision to get drunk. It was a bad decision, but it was my idea."

Wow. Even when Rusty offered him an out, he didn't take it. He was impressed, and few things that adults did impressed Rusty Beck in a good way.

"So what do you do now?"

"I do what I've been doing: I start the day by saying 'today, just for today, I won't take a drink.'"

"That easy, huh?"

Flynn shook his head. "Simple, yes. Easy, no. But I know what my life is like when I don't do it."

"My mom went to court-ordered rehab once. Why didn't it work for her?"

"I don't know, Rusty. An addict has to be ready to quit – has to want to quit more than anything else in the world. For most people, that means hitting absolute rock bottom, first. I had to."

Raydor looked out of her office to see Flynn earnestly talking to Rusty. Maybe he was doing some good. An image from her dream the night before walked through her mind, and she resolutely ignored it. She couldn't think clearly when she was imagining Andy's arms around her, his mouth on her skin... _STOP IT, Sharon!_ She wasn't going there, period. She couldn't. She answered her phone, and with relief, went into the murder room after she ended the call. "Rusty, had a call from maintenance. They need you to meet them on the third floor in the breakroom."

"O.K.," he said, without enthusiasm, and shuffled out of the room.

"What were you two talking about?" she asked.

"Recovery. How you have to want it and how people can lose it," he answered.

"You told him about your relapse?" She was puzzled.

"Yeah. Captain, people have lied to that kid all his life. I wanted at least two people – you and me – to be straight and honest with him. So, I told him."

"That's really admirable, you know? It is."

"Thanks. Summers should be here any time now. I'm anxious to see what he has to say."

Raydor nodded. "So am I."

The rest of the crew drifted in and Flynn kept checking his watch. Finally, a tall, African-American man walked into the murder room. Flynn stood. "Corey Summers?"

"I am."

"Lieutenant Andy Flynn. Glad to meet you. Come on into the conference room. Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, Lieutenant. I'm fine."

"Please, sit down. This is our division commander, Captain Sharon Raydor. She wanted to sit in on this." Flynn flipped through his notes. "I've got so many questions for you. Mrs. Esther Peebles came to us with the story about Grady Joe and I've been reading the original stories. Wow. They were something else. And we've got that underwear down in SID now, to see if we can get any DNA from it. Lieutenant Tao, our SID guru, says even a partial match to Washington would clear Grady Joe. So tell me, what's your interest in this case?"

"I was looking in the archives and came across the stories. I remember when it happened. I was only 15 or so, but I remember it clearly. I remember one of the big issues was whether someone of Grady Joe's mental capacity was competent to stand trial. It was a bigger surprise when the judge ruled he was. So I started going back and reading all the old stories. That was before Mrs. Gordon, Grady Joe's mother, passed. I talked to her, and to a lot of the people who lived there when the rapes happened. Not a single person I interviewed said they thought Grady Joe had the mental capacity, let alone the personality to do what he had been convicted of doing. I talked to Tim Martin, the lead detective on the case. He wasn't happy with the outcome, either."

"I talked to Martin yesterday. That's what he told me."

"I never did write the story because we couldn't get those panties tested. But I had a feeling it would surface again."

"Why the continued interest?" Raydor asked.

Summers grinned at her. "I'm a reporter, Captain. And I'm a bloodhound. I follow the trail until it ends. This trail hasn't ended yet. Also, full disclosure here: I'm Grady Joe's legal guardian, now."

Raydor looked shocked. "How did that happen?" she said.

"When Mrs. Grays – that's Grady Joe's aunt – was diagnosed with cancer, she called me and wanted me to be his guardian. She said he would need someone to keep an eye on how well he was being treated and so forth, and the rest of the family is gone. Even his brother died of a heart attack three years ago. So I've been his guardian for about a year. I go to see him once a month and make sure he has some money in his account so he can buy a Payday candy bar – he loves those things. I brought his latest report so you could read it. That's his signature at the bottom." Summers handed Flynn a thin stack of papers.

"Thanks." The lieutenant scanned the report. The psychiatrist reported that Grady Joe was of a "docile temperament" with "no obvious inclination to violence." There was a itemized list of the contents of his room, his locker in the workroom and his hospital account. There was something inherently pitiful about a grown man having even the number of pairs of socks and sets of underwear he owned written on a list. And it was a pathetically short list to contain everything a man had to his name. Grady Joe didn't have much. At the bottom, a childish hand had written in block print: GRADY JOE. That was his signature. Flynn could feel tears stinging his eyes. How unbearably sad. He handed the report to Raydor and she also scanned it. When she got to the pathetic signature, he could see her blink rapidly and she sniffed and handed the report back to Summers.

"Gets to you, doesn't it?" he said. "The saddest part is, every time I go see Grady Joe, he always asks about his Aunt Doris and if he can go home yet. Swear to God, it breaks my heart. Kevin Washington is in jail for the rest of his sorry life, anyway. If Grady Joe was moved to the long-term care unit and out of the forensics unit, I could take him home for a few days, to see his aunt. But unless he's cleared, that will never happen."

"Right," Flynn said. "Tim Martin said Washington never was developed as a suspect. He said it was because the victims were so certain when they picked Grady Joe out of the lineup. Is that right?"

"Mostly, yeah. And one of the victims, Terri Butler, operated a soup kitchen and homeless shelter. The pressure was on to make an arrest."

Flynn nodded. "That's what Martin said."

"Did he tell you exactly why? Well, he may not have known."

"What?"

"Terri Butler was having an affair with the Chief of Police," Summers replied.

Flynn's mouth dropped open. "No shit. Well, that explains a lot. How did you find out?"

"She told me. And I had it confirmed with other people who saw them together at the black clubs in South Central. Bad enough that he was messing around on his wife, but with a black woman? Even in Southern California, that was still not common in 1977. So the Chief was motivated."

"I'll say," Flynn answered. "Well, that doesn't have to come out, I don't suppose. It's not really germane to the case."

"No, it's not," Raydor agreed. "Some ghosts don't have to be resurrected. I just wonder why no one has asked for a test on those panties until now?"

Summers chuckled. "Well, Ms. Butler never was real clear on what she was doing before the attack. If she had been with the Chief, you might get two separate DNA matches."

"And wouldn't that blow the lid off things? Chief Danner is still alive," Flynn mused.

"So is his wife," Raydor said. "They're in their late seventies, but they're still around. Makes me wonder if that's why Taylor was so nasty about it. He could have talked to Chief Pope, who asked around and got the real story about Chief Danner and Ms. Butler. We all know how gossip spreads around here."

"No doubt," Flynn replied. "Soon as Pope found out about that, he probably had a cow. Surprised we didn't hear it all the way across the street over here." His grin was malicious. "Because, of course, we don't have the native intelligence not to bring this up. So look," he said, turning to the reporter, "do _you_ plan on bringing this up if we get anything like a result from those panties?"

Summers shook his head. "No. No reason to. This is about Grady Joe, not a 35-year-old love affair."

Sharon nodded. "I agree. Well, Mr. Summers, you've been invaluable today. As soon as SID has a result on that underwear, Lieutenant Flynn will contact you. Thank you so very much for coming in."

"You're welcome, Captain. Let's see if we can get some justice for Grady Joe."

He made his way out of the murder room and Flynn faced Raydor. "I wonder how many other cases have these kinds of skeletons in their closets?"

"I shudder to think," she answered.

Flynn went into the murder room and filled the squad in on what he had learned from Corey Summers – except for the part about the affair.

* * *

They were doing the inescapable paperwork when Raydor came out of her office with a look of frustration. "People, I've had an e-mail from Chief Taylor, via Chief Pope. The annual 'Guns and Hoses' charity softball game with the fire department, is tomorrow, and somehow, he says, the Major Crimes squad has neglected to send a team member to the event. So, I've been instructed to recruit at least two – three, if possible – of you to play."

"'Guns and Hoses,'" Provenza spat. "Who in the hell came up with that damn fool name?"

"You know, Lieutenant, Guns N' Roses, the band?" Sykes piped up.

He glared at her. "No, Sykes. I don't know. And I don't care. And I _don't_ play softball." He flipped his paper up.

The crew chuckled and Flynn cracked, "What a shocker."

Sykes said, predictably, "I'll do it, Captain! I love softball!"

"Thank you, Detective. Who else?"

Sanchez sighed heavily. "I'll do it, Ma'am."

"Appreciate it, Sanchez. Can I get one more, please?"

Provenza smacked Flynn with his newspaper and pointed to Raydor. "You're the real baseball player around here. Do it. Anything to get Taylor off the Captain's back. Makes our lives easier."

Raydor grinned at Provenza in spite of herself. "Thank you for your unselfish support, Lieutenant. And Lieutenant Flynn, can I count on you?"

Well, hell. She _had_ to word it like that, didn't she? He shot Provenza a dirty look, then said, "I'll have to tear apart my hall closet for my glove and cleats, but yeah. I'll be there."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. And I'll give up my Saturday and come out. So will Lieutenants Provenza and Tao." Thank heavens. Something to do with Rusty.

"Be glad to, Captain," Tao answered.

Provenza narrowed his eyes at Tao, but looked at Raydor. "Anything you say."

"It's just five innings, and it is for charity. The proceeds go to a children's food program, and to help with medical expenses for children with long-term illnesses. Both good causes," Raydor said. "It's at the Kennedy High School baseball field. Be there at 9 a.m. The game starts at 10. Oh, and bring your LAPD caps to wear. The department is providing T-shirts."

Flynn excused himself to the breakroom. He needed some coffee. He was waiting for the coffee to brew when Raydor said, "Thank you for agreeing to play tomorrow. It really does help."

"Sure, Captain. What was I supposed to do? _'Can I count on you?'_ Jeez. Stick the knife in."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, right."

"Really, I didn't. I'm sorry," Raydor said, putting her hand on Flynn's arm. What a mistake. His coat was off and she could feel the warmth and muscle under his shirt. She snatched her hand away too late. He turned his dark chocolate eyes on her and raised one eyebrow. Why did her knees have to go weak when he did that?

"Apology accepted. But you owe me one, Captain. I'm giving up my Saturday morning for you."

"What are you asking for, Lieutenant?"

A gleam lit his eyes. "You give up a Saturday night – or any night – for me."

"Lieutenant – Andy. You know I can't... What about Rusty?"

"A night when it's convenient. You want me to play? You've gotta play, too."

"You're impossible!" Sharon huffed.

He gave her a slow grin that nearly brought her to her knees. "I love it when you talk dirty – Sharon." Again, his voice sounded like an erotic caress. "So?"

"This is blackmail, but all right. I'll do it."

"At a good time for you. But I won't wait too long. And I won't forget, so don't just go conveniently putting it off. I mean it, Captain."

Those eyes. Why had she made the mistake of touching him _and_ looking into his eyes? They were hypnotic. "Of course, Lieutenant," she said and nearly ran back to the safety of her office. Andy grinned after her. Sometimes, playing a little dirty was the only way to get what you wanted.

With some difficulty, Sharon talked Rusty into going to the game. "We need to support the squad," she said.

"You do, you mean."

"That's right. So do you."

They were in the stands down the first base line. Lieutenant Tao and his wife came to sit beside them.

"Beautiful day for a game, Captain," Tao said.

"Yes it is. I think we'll have a good time."

The LAPD team was up for batting practice, and Rusty said, "Hey, Sharon. Isn't that Lieutenant Flynn on deck?"

Sharon looked and saw Andy. Her mouth dropped open. She had never really seen him in anything but a suit, or maybe jeans, once. His navy T-shirt was snug across his chest, and she didn't know where he found those gray baseball pants, but they outlined his legs like a second skin. He knocked the dirt out of his black cleats with the bat, in the way ballplayers do, took a few practice swings and approached the plate. Every player got to hit five pitches, and on the third pitch, Andy connected with a "thwack!" and the ball sailed out to the outfield wall.

"That would have been a ground rule double, easy," Tao said. Sharon just nodded.

Rusty looked at her. She had sunglasses on, but she was checking Flynn out. He could tell. He wondered how long she'd had the hots for him. Rusty appraised Flynn through the eyes of one in his former occupation. Not bad, really. Not bad at all. He could see it. Two old people like them who still looked pretty good? Yeah, he could understand.

The fire department won the coin toss and went to bat first. Sharon wasn't expecting it, but Andy jogged out to first base and took up his position there.

"Andy played first base in high school," Tao said.

"Really?" Sharon answered. "I had no idea."

"He was on the all city team his junior and senior year. He's pretty good. I've played with him occasionally."

Well, Sharon had always thought baseball players had the best bodies, and Andy was no exception. He went into a half crouch as the pitcher released the ball. Sharon's breath hitched. Of course, his back was to her, and those pants left nothing to the imagination. Never had softball been so fascinating. The batter hit a blooping grounder right to Andy and he scooped up the ball effortlessly, tagged the batter out and lobbed the ball back to the pitcher.

The rest of the inning was a blur. Sharon saw only when Andy straightened up, took off his cap, ran a hand through his hair, replaced his cap, pounded his fist into his glove and yelled encouragement to the pitcher. Nothing else was happening on the field, as far as she was concerned. The fire department left one on base and trotted back to the dugout.

Sykes led off the LAPD team with a solid single and made it to first base long before the outfielder had time to throw the ball.

"Good lead-off decision," Tao said. "Sykes can run like she's on fire."

One more batter made it on base and Andy went to bat with two on and one out.

"They've got Andy batting clean-up. Makes sense. He can cream that ball. Not the fastest runner, but it doesn't matter if you hit it out far enough," was Tao's comment.

Andy was patient and the count was 3-1 when the pitcher made the mistake of throwing the ball way too flat and right down the middle. Andy swung and again, sent the softball to the fence. Two runs scored and he ended up on second. The next batter got a hit and Andy went to third base. A strikeout sent the count to two outs, then Sanchez was up. The LAPD side was yelling and cheering. Julio hit a solid single to center and Andy coasted to home to score the third run. He looked enormously pleased with himself and Sharon was proud of him.

Rusty saw her expression. Wow. Sharon really had it bad for Flynn. He wondered if the lieutenant felt the same way and rather thought that might be the case.

The LAPD ended up winning 4-3, and on the drive home, Sharon was grinning.

"Good game, huh, Sharon?" Rusty said.

"Yes, it was. Very."

"Your people were awesome."

"They were. I'm proud of them for their effort."

"So how long have you had a case for Lieutenant Flynn?"

Sharon looked at Rusty and nearly ran the car off the road. "WHAT?" she exclaimed.

"C'mon, Sharon. I can tell. You looked at him like, well, like you know..." he said with a smirk and his voice trailed off.

"Rusty, Lieutenant Flynn and I have known each other for a number of years and he's on my squad. He's a colleague."

"Yeah, but you weren't looking at him like a colleague. Just sayin'," he replied.

Further conversation on the subject was pointless, so Sharon kept driving.

* * *

Andy stretched uncomfortably. Even though he only played three innings, he knew he would be sore. He was just getting too old for this, much as he hated to admit it. Taylor insisted on three members of the Major Crimes squad to play to inconvenience Sharon and pay her back for not caving on the Grady Joe Gordon case. Taylor was a prick and Andy didn't know how he had ever worked for the man. Because Taylor had always covered for him, that's why. And Taylor had always covered for him because Andy made him look good.

He went to the kitchen and took a couple of Tylenol and downed half a bottle of Gatorade. Returning to his recliner, he turned on the television, and thought about how Sharon had promised him a night. That was an inspired piece of deal-making, if he did say so himself. He intended to collect on it, too. It might be pizza at her place with Rusty in the middle of it, but that was all right. He knew she was attracted to him and he thought if he could only spend some quality time with her, she would realize they could be good together. It was even fine with him if she decided to apply for permanent guardianship of Rusty. The kid needed some stability and God knows, other parents managed to date around their teenagers. His first wife certainly had done it.

Sharon had decided she could surely leave Rusty at home long enough to go to the grocery store, and she had plenty of time to think as she shopped. She had made a deal with Andy, basically for a date. Was she crazy? No, she needed his cooperation with the softball game, and she supposed turnabout was fair play. Not too much could happen on a single date, surely. Oh, who was she kidding? A _lot _could happen on one date. Sharon could feel her face flaming at the thought of the things that could happen on a single date. But she had promised to do it and she would go through with it. Andy was just diabolical. She was accustomed to underestimating his native intelligence because of his smart mouth and tendency to get into ridiculous situations with Provenza. When would she learn to stop doing that? It wasn't the best way to establish a good working relationship, for one thing, but it also meant she didn't see this kind of wheeling and dealing coming, and he blindsided her. Well, she would deal with the date when the time came. And do her best to deflect Rusty's interest away from it. She could certainly do without that.

* * *

Flynn was still sore Monday morning. His legs were aching. He thought he was staying in shape. He walked and worked out. Apparently, it wasn't enough. He sat down a little carefully, since his thighs were especially achy.

"Feeling it this morning, Lieutenant?" Sanchez asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, so am I, if it makes you feel any better. My arms were numb yesterday."

"I know where you're coming from, Julio," Flynn replied.

"You looked good out there, Andy," Tao said.

"Thanks, Mike. It was fun while it lasted. It was the morning after that was so bad."

"Isn't it always?" Provenza threw in.

Then, Sykes bounced in. "Good morning!" she chirped. "Didn't we have a great time Saturday? I haven't done that in a while and I feel _great_ this morning! Like a different person! Don't you, Lieutenant Flynn?"

"Yeah, great," he deadpanned, to the amusement of the rest.

"It was so much fun! So cool to meet so many department members, and people from the fire department, too! I wish we could do that every weekend! Hey, I know! Why don't we start a department team? It would be awesome!"

Provenza scowled at her. "Detective, would you _please_ tone down the perky Polly routine? It's Monday and most of us are not glad it's Monday, all right? Raydor's not here yet, so you don't have to be so damned enthusiastic."

Sykes sat, visibly extinguished. Flynn could almost feel sorry for her, if she hadn't been trying so hard to get him to change his mind about seeing her. As it was, she definitely needed to ratchet back on the happy this morning.

He answered his phone and felt better when he ended the call. "That was SID. They should have the results on that underwear by this afternoon."

"That's good news," Provenza said.

"What's good news, Lieutenant?" Sharon said as she walked into the room.

"Results on the underwear, Captain, maybe by this afternoon," Flynn answered.

"Excellent. I'm very interested in seeing how all this turns out. And thank you, Lieutenant Flynn, and Detectives Sanchez and Sykes, for playing Saturday. You all did a great job, and with a win by the LAPD to boot, it makes it easier on all of us. I appreciate it." She went into her office.

"Well, at least I'm aching for a purpose," Flynn quipped.

"Aching? Why are you aching, Lieutenant?" Sykes said. "You didn't play _that _much!"

Provenza turned around to fully face the detective and narrowed his eyes. "Detective Sykes, _shut up_, and that's an order!"

"O.K. I was just wondering why the Lieutenant is sore, that's all," she answered.

"What part of 'Shut up' don't you understand, Sykes? The 'shut' or the 'up'? Not another word!" Provenza was serious, but Sykes thought at the moment that he resembled nothing so much as a grumpy bulldog.

She shrugged and turned to her computer. She loved sports and it wasn't her fault they were just a bunch of grouches.

Flynn spent the better part of his day trying to avoid getting within 10 feet of Amy Sykes. He actually liked her well enough, but he didn't want to do anything that might encourage her.

Right before five, an SID tech came into the murder room. "Lieutenant Flynn? Here are the results from the underwear." He handed Flynn a folder.

"Thanks," he answered, and put on his glasses to read the contents. "Get the Captain in here," he said.

Sanchez went to tell Raydor and Tao got up to look over Flynn's shoulder at the results. "Well, well," he said.

Raydor hurried out of her office. "What's the word, Lieutenant?"

He handed her the folder. "See for yourself."

She adjusted her glasses and looked at the report. "Corey Summers can finish writing his story, now."

"So, what does it say?" Provenza asked.

"Grady Joe didn't do it. The DNA was a five-point match for Kevin Washington," Flynn answered. "I'm calling Summers right now with the good news." He got on the phone and ended up leaving a message for Summers on his cell.

"I'll call DDA Hobbes and tell her," Raydor said.

Flynn's cell rang and it was Summers. "Finish writing, Corey. Grady Joe didn't do it," Flynn said. "Raydor's calling the DDA now. Call Doris and Mrs. Peebles." When he ended the call, he nodded in satisfaction. "Finally. I'll call Tim Martin, too."

Provenza actually smiled. "It took us 35 years, but finally, we got justice for Grady Joe."

"Yeah," Flynn answered. "Feels good."

* * *

When Sharon got home, she was pleased. Rusty handed her a sheet of paper. "What's this?" she asked.

"Read it."

"It" was a permission slip for a fun day and sleepover at a friend's house. "It's with the chess club," he explained. "And I know I've been a jerk, but I'd really like to go."

Sharon looked it over. Friday was a school holiday and the parents and faculty sponsor were really going all out. The itinerary included a day at the Santa Monica Pier, a cookout and a movie. She glanced at Rusty, whose face was hopeful. He needed to make friends, and feel like he was a part of something positive. "You know you don't deserve this. Not after last week," she said.

"I know." His face fell and Sharon's heart melted.

"But, as a show of faith that I trust you, you can go. I'll even give you some money. But Rusty, this is a big deal. This is huge. I'm saying I hope you've learned something and that you intend to give school your best effort. I'm absolutely serious. Don't make me regret this." She signed the form.

"I won't, Sharon, I swear! Thank you so much!" He threw his arms around her, startling the life out of her. Except for a handshake, she couldn't remember Rusty touching her voluntarily since he had lived with her. Tears started in her eyes.

"You're welcome, Rusty," she said, tentatively returning the hug. It was a sweet moment, and a precious one, she knew. Maybe something had truly changed between them. She watched with pleasure as he immediately picked up his phone and texted a friend and went to his room.

Then she remembered she would be all alone Friday night, with no one else in the house – and she had a date.


	7. Chapter 7: Game Changer

**A/N:** Friday night arrives eventually... Enjoy. ;) And of course, **R&R!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 7: Game Changer**

DDA Hobbes was talking to Flynn and Raydor in the Captain's office the next afternoon. "No one in the office had heard of this case until you brought it up, Lieutenant," she said.

"I'm not surprised. Not like Grady Joe had money or anyone who could keep it stirred up," Flynn replied.

"No. And no one from the D.A.'s office now was working in 1977, so they didn't have any firsthand knowledge of the case," Hobbes answered.

"Which probably was a good thing," Raydor said. "So, your office is filing to have the conviction overturned and then charges filed against Washington?"

Hobbes nodded. "That's it. Plus, we'll work with Mr. Summers on getting Grady Joe transferred to the long-term care unit and then hopefully, to a group home. He'll still be considered a ward of the state and Mr. Summers will be his guardian." She shook her head. "I can't believe a judge ever ruled him competent to stand trial. I just can't believe it. I went back and read the trial transcripts. He had no idea what he was being charged with, or why. His attorney put him on the stand, probably hoping it would be obvious to the jury that he wasn't competent. They still found him guilty. Incredible. It wouldn't happen that way now. There's no way he would have been ruled competent to start with."

"And they would have had all the DNA evidence, so likely, he never would have been charged," Raydor answered.

"Exactly," Hobbes said. "But at least Kevin Washington is already behind bars, so we don't have to worry about that."

"No trial costs and the only fees are for the DNA testing. Taylor should be thrilled," Flynn said dryly.

Hobbes chuckled. She didn't like Chief Taylor, either. "We're all thrilled. But for different reasons. I'm glad justice was finally served. Oh, I ran into Brenda Johnson. She said to tell all of you hello."

"Hey to the Chief," Flynn said. "She's doing all right?"

"She is, and we're glad to have her. I'm just sorry she didn't get the backup she needed with Philip Stroh in the beginning. The higher-ups in my office certainly didn't do her any favors."

"Same over here," Flynn replied. Their eyes met in understanding. Both knew who was at the root of that debacle: Pope.

"Well, we move on. I've got paperwork to file and my office will be contacting Mr. Summers when everything is in order. Grady Joe should be able to go see his aunt within a couple of weeks, sooner if we can arrange it."

"Thank you for your swift action, Ms. Hobbes," Raydor said. "We appreciate it."

"Anytime," she replied, and left the office.

"Nice to know something worked out around here," Flynn said, watching her leave.

"Indeed. And, Lieutenant, I wanted to tell you something, anyway."

"What's that?" he said, turning to his Captain. She looked – nervous?

Raydor cleared her throat. Definitely nervous, Flynn thought. This could be very bad, or very good.

"About that deal we made…"

"Yeah?" Something in his tone made Raydor flush to her toes.

"Um, well, what about Friday night?"

There was that tomcat grin again. "Friday works for me. I have to say, I didn't expect you'd find the time so soon."

How could he manage to fluster her so thoroughly? "Yes, it's just that Rusty has a sleepover with his chess club friends that night, so I'm free."

A sparkle came into his eyes and his grin widened, if that were possible. Sharon's mouth went dry.

"What time?" Andy asked.

"Um, seven? My place?"

"I will definitely be there," he answered. "Looking forward to it."

"Mmm-hmm," Sharon hummed, trying to smile pleasantly.

"Don't look so nervous, Sharon. I am not the Big Bad Wolf. I always wait until at least the second time before I gobble up my date." His eyes were wicked, now.

"I'll see you then, Lieutenant," she answered, falling back on the ice princess persona to shore up her defenses.

"Count on it, Captain," he replied, and left her office with a chuckle.

Sharon collapsed into her chair. This was such a spectacularly bad idea, she couldn't believe she had agreed to it. Oh yes, she was looking forward to it. But she was his commanding officer, he was an alcoholic – the reasons for leaving him strictly alone were numerous and legitimate ones. So why couldn't she? Why couldn't she tell Andrew Flynn to go charm some other woman with his dark eyes and his gallows humor and his tailored suits that made a woman wonder what was underneath? Her mouth was going dry again. These were all the telltale signs of a crush, and she was entirely too old for that foolishness – wasn't she? She grabbed a folder and buried herself in paperwork.

Andy Flynn was the most exasperating man on earth, Sharon Raydor concluded. He had given no signs to anyone on the squad that they had a date planned. Not a word. But every time she walked by his desk, he would raise his eyebrows at her, or give her a sidelong glance, his eyes dancing with evil merriment. He had discovered she could be flustered, and he did it as often as he could manage. And she knew he was enjoying it.

Provenza noticed his partner did seem to be in a good mood. "Have you got a date this weekend?" he asked suspiciously.

"Why? You wondering if someone has a friend for you?"

"No, jackass. You've just been a little too happy."

Flynn just shrugged and went back to his computer.

Sykes was listening intently, but Flynn neither confirmed nor denied he had a date. He only shrugged at Provenza. Did he, she wondered? Was it with Raydor? Flynn had told her in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested in her. Why couldn't she not be interested in him?

* * *

Before he left for the afternoon on Friday, Andy had sent Sharon a text. It said, "Tonight," and ended with a smiley face emoticon. Completely unnecessary and totally within character, Sharon thought. Nevertheless, she had a pot of vegetable soup in the slow cooker, and started a batch of homemade rolls the night before.

"What's the occasion, Sharon?" Rusty asked, watching her mix the dough.

"I haven't made these in a while," she replied.

"What are you doing tomorrow night? Will you miss me?"

Sharon smiled at him. "Yes, I'll miss you. I've become used to you being around."

"So what are you doing? You're not making those rolls for your health. Got a date or something?" He had a look of mischief on his face.

"Rusty, really. I have someone to cook for now. I enjoy it."

"Yeah, but I won't be around to eat those tomorrow, so who will be? Andy Flynn?" Her furious blush answered his question. "It _is_ Flynn! I knew it!"

"You'll have plenty of these rolls to eat," Sharon said, trying to change the subject.

"Probably. So when did you agree to have a date with him? After the softball game? You were sure giving him the eye the whole time."

"RUSTY!" Sharon yelled in frustration, but he just grinned cheerfully.

"Hey, it's cool with me. I mean, I understand. Honestly, I didn't know old people could be so attracted to each other, but Flynn's not bad looking for someone his age, and seriously, you're really pretty for an older lady, so it's all good. You two want to do the horizontal bop, it's no skin off my nose!"

Sharon was torn between rolling with laughter and smothering Rusty with the dough she was kneading. "I am not discussing this with you."

He leaned his elbows on the counter. "Why not? Not like I'm some innocent kid. I'd actually like to hear about someone who has a normal relationship once in a while. Unless, you know, there's something you're not telling me. But you can tell me anyway. I know all about abnormal, too."

"You're exasperating," she replied.

"I'm a teenager. I thought that was part of the package deal."

Sharon looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I am going to do something truly awful to you if you don't go away."

"O.K., O.K. But if you want you know, any advice or anything, just ask," he said with a smirk. The only answer he got was the Raydor Glare, so he went to his room, snickering.

He and Andy were a lot alike, Sharon thought.

* * *

Sharon nearly jumped out of her skin when her doorbell rang. She hated the sound it made, anyway. It sounded like a bad alarm clock. She took a deep breath and went to answer it. She opened the door and her jaw nearly dropped when she saw Andy. He looked sexier than any man had a right to. He wore a black leather jacket, faded jeans and an indigo shirt that looked soft and made Sharon want to touch it – to touch him. "Hi Andy," she said softly. "Won't you come in?"

"Thanks. These are for you." He handed her a small bouquet of flowers, probably purchased at the grocery store, but still lovely.

"How sweet! Thank you," she said. She went to the kitchen, located a vase and put the flowers in some water. "They're so pretty."

"Glad you like them. I didn't really notice your place when I came over the last time. It's nice," he said.

"Thanks. I like it here. I have a view, so I don't feel so hemmed in. Are you hungry? I have dinner ready."

"Starved and it smells great."

"Oh, it's just vegetable soup and rolls, but it's all homemade."

Andy smiled at her. "I don't remember the last time I had a real home-cooked anything. Believe me, I'm not picky."

As he ladled his soup into the bowl, she said, "Now those are vegetarian crumbles, not beef. So you don't have to pick them out or anything." She was glad she had remembered Andy was a vegetarian.

"Thanks. That was thoughtful."

She poured cranberry juice for both of them and they began eating.

After a few bites, Andy said, "Sharon, you're an awesome cook. The soup is great, and I'll bet I haven't had homemade bread or rolls since the last time I went to Jersey. You went to a lot of trouble."

"Not really. I enjoy cooking. It's a creative outlet for me. And that roll recipe makes so many, I think I'm going to make it once a week, and then Rusty will have something to snack on the rest of the week. It's a job keeping that kid filled up."

"He's 16. Ma said we'd have gone to the poorhouse if it hadn't been for peanut butter. We ate a lot of it. But with two teenage boys in the house, along with two girls, I know it was work feeding us. I can remember times when I'd eat dinner at a friend's house, then come home and eat again. Dad worked late, so we ate later. It was awful, having to wait until seven to eat! I'd rather eat about that time now, but when I was in high school, and lunch was at 11:30, oh God. I thought I was gonna die before dinner. And that was after I'd scarfed probably three peanut butter sandwiches! I swear, I don't know how Ma did it," Andy said, remembering.

"What did your dad do for a living?" Sharon asked.

"He was a handyman, really. He could do just about anything anyone needed, as far as home repairs go. I guess they'd call him a general contractor now, or something similar. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, my dad was an attorney, and my mom was a civic and community leader. In other words, if there was a club, she joined it, and eventually became president of it," Sharon answered with a smile.

"So the whole women in charge thing runs in the family, then," Andy said, but his voice was gently teasing.

"I guess you could say that," she answered.

Andy watched as she cleared the table. She looked great, but then, she always did. She wore jeans that clung to every curve and a green sweater that matched her eyes. Her hair was in a ponytail and Andy swore he was going to undo it and tousle her hair before the night was over. The air was combustible in the place. One spark would set the whole room on fire.

She was saying, "I went to that bakery on the corner and picked up some brownies so we'd have some dessert. And I have coffee. Would you like a brownie?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Sharon poured coffee for both of them and brought it to the table, along with the brownies on a plate. "Help yourself."

Andy took one of the brownies and ate it. "These are terrific. They're chewy. I don't like those cakey brownies. You have to drown them in a glass of milk. These are great."

Sharon nodded. "They are pretty good. I thought they looked like they would be. I'm not as addicted to sweets as Chief Johnson, but I do enjoy something like this once in a while."

"Did you know that, as her going-away gift, we bought her a purse like the one she shot Stroh through and filled it with ding dongs. She was thrilled." He laughed at the thought.

Sharon laughed out loud. "I have never understood what she kept in that purse. I decided years ago I was going to downsize. I refused to carry all my worldly possessions. It was killing my back."

"She carried every damn thing you can imagine in that purse. And it all jumbled together, so anytime she wanted something, she had to take the whole thing apart and put it back together. I've seen the guts of that purse more times than I can count." He rolled his eyes.

"I'll bet you have!" Sharon was still laughing. Andy loved the way she looked when she laughed. Her whole face lit up.

"She really didn't even have to shoot Stroh through it. One good whack! with the thing, and he would have been completely unconscious anyway."

"Especially with a Glock inside," Sharon replied, still chuckling. The mental picture was a funny one.

"You use what you've got." Andy looked into her den. "Is that an actual turntable I see in that cabinet? A _working_ turntable?"

"It is. I have my parents' records and I still enjoy listening to them occasionally. Have a look."

Andy got up and went to the shelves where the records were stored. He rifled through them. "Wow. Looks like the records my folks had. Including the 78s." He looked at the turntable. "And it will play 78s. That's cool. Let's see…" he said, his voice trailing off. "Here's one." He lifted the turntable cover, set the speed, placed the old record on the spindle and turned on the power. He gently touched the needle to the vinyl and heard the familiar faint hiss and crackle in the speakers. It was all right. Those sounds were somehow comforting. He held out his hands. "May I have this dance?" he said.

"Sure," Sharon answered. She took his hands and he pulled her close as the strains of "I'm Getting Sentimental Over You" by Tommy Dorsey started.

"Ma loved this song," he murmured.

Dancing with Andy was heavenly, Sharon thought. Her head fit perfectly in the pocket of his shoulder, her head under his chin. She could smell his cologne yes, but something else underneath that was uniquely him. She felt one hand drifting up her back, to her neck, and with deft fingers, he loosed her ponytail and ran his hand through her hair. She could feel her blood heating up.

They swayed in place until the song ended, and Sharon looked up at him. He put his hand on her cheek and rubbed her lips with his thumb. He stroked the skin on her face with his fingers, and Sharon closed her eyes, then opened them and looked into Andy's eyes. They were black with passion, but gentle, warm. He held her face in his hand while his other arm was still around her. This moment had been inevitable since she yelled, "He'd better wake up!" at the EMTs after he was attacked by Bob Harris, Sharon realized.

Andy looked at Sharon. Her eyes were luminous and her lips were slightly parted. How long had he wanted to be in just this situation with her? Longer than he wanted to admit. He wanted her mouth badly, but he had waited entirely too long for this to rush it. So, instead, he drifted his lips across her forehead, down to one temple, where he paused to enjoy the scent of her hair, then down her face, to her earlobe. He gave it several soft nips and felt Sharon tremble in his arms. He took his mouth down her jawline and even kissed her chin before finally, finally, taking her lips with his, so softly. He didn't want to force her to do anything.

But Sharon was drowning. The second Andy's lips touched her forehead, she was completely lost, and she knew it. The wall she had put up between them was just tissue paper that dissolved as soon as Andy put his arms around her. She couldn't remember a man ever kissing her like this. Every time his lips moved on her skin, she shivered with the onslaught of feelings. It wasn't like this before, was it? She didn't remember ever feeling these intense stabs of passion with any other man. And when his mouth covered hers at last, it was better than anything she ever remembered. He tasted of coffee and chocolate, and of himself, and when his tongue asked for entrance, she gave it gladly, raising her hands to his thick hair, pressing herself along the length of his body, his mouth to hers. She didn't care what the morning brought; this is what she wanted tonight.

Andy slid his hands underneath her sweater, feeling her skin like satin under his fingertips, and Sharon gasped into his mouth at the feel of a man's hands on her body, in who knew how long. She had forgotten how long it had been. She had neatly compartmentalized her passion into a box she didn't open. But Andy was destroying that box, tearing it to pieces with infinite gentleness as he touched her and brought her skin back to life.

It was called "skin hunger" for a reason, Sharon thought, as she remembered how much she loved having her back touched. He took his mouth down to her neck and teased every hollow and curve of it, sending waves of heat pouring into her blood. It was like standing in front of a dam with the spillways gushing water. There was no fighting it and she didn't want to.

Then, incredibly, he raised his head from her skin and looked at her. "Sharon, sweetheart, you know where this is going."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Is this what you want?" She knew if she said no, he would stop. His eyes told her that. But she couldn't stop. She couldn't give this up. She wanted him too much. So she hooked one leg around his and brought his mouth to hers again, sighing "Yes, Andy, please," against his lips.

A thrill of male victory ran through Andy, but he had to keep himself firmly in check. This was not the time to allow blind lust to take over. He didn't know how long it had been for Sharon, and he didn't know her body – not yet. She had to trust him not to hurt her. And he wouldn't. So, he continued kissing her as he kicked off his sneakers and he scooped her up into his arms and took her to her bedroom.

When he set her on his feet, Andy started unbuttoning his shirt. Sharon stayed his hands. "Let me," she said, her voice barely audible. With shaky fingers, she managed to unbutton it and he shrugged out of it. She tugged his white T-shirt out of the waist of his jeans and he pulled it over his head. She looked at him for a moment, then pressed her hands against his stomach and slid them up his chest, to his shoulders, the feel of his skin under her palms stoking a fire and feeding a need she didn't know she had.

The one light on the nightstand lent a warm, dim glow to the room, but it was all Sharon wanted, or needed. She could see Andy clearly. She did take off her glasses and placed them on the stand, and started to take off her sweater. This time, it was Andy's turn to shake his head and he pulled it off and his gaze on her black lace bra was warm and admiring. "Beautiful," he breathed. Clothes came off a bit more quickly after that, but he was still intent on taking his time with this. His jeans hit the floor, as did hers, and she backed up to the edge of the bed and sat down. He sat next to her and took her mouth once more. "Your mouth is so sweet," he murmured. "Your skin is delicious." He pushed her gently to the bed and she put her arms around him, feeling the strength of his body, wanting him. Fire licked through every nerve ending she had. She felt his fingers at the clasp of her bra and he freed it and drew the lacy material away from her breasts. The expression on his face as he looked at her made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Andy stroked the skin on the top of her breasts and then touched her nipples, gratified by Sharon's gasp and how her body arched to his as he did it. He spent a long time touching her breasts, cupping their weight in his hands, tweaking her nipples gently, watching her face as he did it. Then, he took a nipple in his mouth and Sharon moaned softly.

At the touch of his mouth on her breast, roman candles went off in her brain. Sharon could only whimper at the heat of his mouth, his tongue. He was not hurrying and she didn't want him to. He reached to the band of her panties and tugged them. She lifted her hips to help him, and shortly, her panties were on the floor also. She felt his fingers probe her center, gently, tenderly, and she wasn't sure she was going to live, so intense was the heat he was firing in her.

He moved his mouth to her neck. "Don't be brave, Sharon. Tell me if anything hurts. I want to make you feel good," he rasped in her ear.

"It all feels good, Andy. But it has been a while. I don't remember when..."

"It's O.K., babe," he whispered, kissing her again. "We'll make it all right. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know. I'm glad," was the response.

She could feel one finger inside her and she arched to him. He brought it up tenderly, to touch that nerve center, to stroke it lightly, and with skill. Sharon cried out as he did. It was too good. He kept up that exquisite torture, until she gasped out, "Andy, please. Now." She reached to circle him, stroke him, and he leveled himself above her and she guided him inside herself. His thrusts were slow, deep strokes. As long as it had been for her, this would be almost like the first time. But she responded to his body, finding the rhythm, clasping her legs around his waist to take him deeper, holding his shoulders, feeling him inside her, his chest hair rasping her skin like roughened velvet, hearing him tell her how good she felt and how he had wanted her.

Sharon's body was so incredibly wet and hot, Andy was having to hold himself back, to give her something from all this. But even though she was close, he couldn't stop the tide and he found his release inside her body, calling her name as he climaxed. He rolled them to their sides as he relaxed against her. He didn't want to leave her body, but he didn't intend to leave her wanting, so he found her center again and stroked her until she screamed with the force of her orgasm. She went totally limp, except for trembling every time Andy ran his hand down her body.

Andy gathered Sharon into his arms and stroked the skin on her back, feeling her mold herself to him. When she finally opened her eyes and looked into his, he brushed a tendril of hair back from her face and kissed her softly. "You O.K.?" he whispered.

She nodded slowly. "For the first time in a long time," she whispered back and was rewarded with his smile. "You're feeling smug," she accused softly.

"Not really. More like I'm glad I could make you feel good." Here, he paused to kiss her at her hairline again. "I want to make you feel good more often. You're an incredible woman, Sharon Raydor. And a beautiful one."

"And you are sexier than any man has a right to be, Andy Flynn. How is it that none of the cute officers have snagged you?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe I was waiting on you to decide you liked me after all."

Sharon wrinkled her nose at him. "Took me long enough, didn't it?"

He nodded emphatically. "Way, way too long. I thought I was just gonna have to drag you into the stairwell and kiss you until you changed your mind."

"That might actually have worked. But this is much better," she said with a soft laugh.

"I think so," he answered. He looked at her in the light. She had the look of a satisfied, sated woman, and he had put that look on her face. Maybe he _was_ feeling just a little smug. He cuddled her to him again and they both slept.

Sharon woke in the night to the unfamiliar feeling of having someone in her bed. But she liked it. She could hear Andy's soft snores and she ran her hand down his back. He moved, but didn't wake. She got up and went into the bathroom. She was sore. He had been incredibly gentle, but it had been a long time, after all. Warm water helped and she looked in the mirror at herself. She had a look she hadn't seen in a long time, but one that she liked. She had honestly wondered if she still knew how to be a woman, after so many years of – of – sterility. But one kiss from Andy Flynn showed her she still knew. Or maybe he taught her all over again. Who would have thought he could be so tender and considerate? Truly, it was a side she suspected might be there, but finding it for herself was a treasure.

She made her way back to the bed and turned out the side lamp. Tomorrow could wait, she thought, as she slid back into bed and Andy turned and reached to snuggle up to her again. Let tomorrow take care of itself. Tonight, she had Andy. Tonight, that was enough.


	8. Chapter 8: Queen, Knave, Joker

**A/N:** You knew there would be a morning after, right? Enjoy and please please, **R&R!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Queen, Knave, Joker**

Sharon woke slowly, to the feeling of Andy kissing her neck softly, mouthing the skin at her collarbone. "Mmmm," she murmured. "This is the way to wake up." He chuckled, but didn't stop what he was doing. The light was dim outside. It was still early.

"What time will Rusty be back?" Andy asked, in between kisses.

"I'm picking him up at two."

"Fantastic. I've got all morning with you, then." He resumed kissing her and stroking her body. "I heard you get up in the night. Are you all right?" he said against her ear.

"I'm a little sore, but it's not too bad," she replied.

"I'm sorry, babe. I really did try not to hurt you."

Sharon turned over to Andy and brought his mouth to hers. "You didn't. It's just been a long time. This kind of soreness I can live with," she said, doing her own exploration of the dips and planes of his face and neck. She touched his chest, feeling the hair under her fingers. Farther down, she could see the evidence of the Harris attack in the scar that began just above his navel and went down to the right. She remembered the size of the bandage the EMTs had on him in the ambulance.

"Checking out the battle scars?" he said, but there was amusement in his voice.

"I only saw the bandage in the ambulance. I never saw the actual wounds underneath."

"Be glad. They weren't pretty," Andy answered with a grimace. "I felt like I'd been hit by a truck for about two weeks."

Sharon raised her hand to his face. "You'd lost a lot of blood. That tends to make you tire easily. The first day you came back, you know, when I had to tell you I was investigating the Floria Stenzel charge, your color was awful. I really didn't want to tell you. I had to, though. You went even more pale when you got angry with me and I thought you were going to collapse right there." She kissed him. "Do you know I used to be scared to death of you? And of Julio. I thought you both were just thugs. Funny how you can misjudge people."

"Thugs? Really?" Andy snickered. "Well, Julio does have the reputation for being a little forceful."

"So do you. If they only knew how sweet you are."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sweet? _Me_? That's a first."

"You are sweet, Andy. You just hide it well. If you didn't have such a warm heart, that drunk driver case wouldn't have eaten at you like it did." She kissed him again and put her head against his chest. "So much time wasted between us."

"I'm all for making up for it if you are," he teased.

"As soon as the soreness fades, sure."

Andy arched an eyebrow at her. "Do you seriously think that's all I've got in my bag of tricks? Why don't you lie back and let me take care of you?" He leaned over her, elbows on either side, and growled, "Because I just don't think once was enough for you. You need it more than _once_."

His words sent a flame streaking up Sharon's body, and he compounded it by covering a breast with his mouth, then by giving the same attention to the other one. He kissed her ribcage and her stomach, licking the skin softly, even where the faint stretch marks of pregnancy lingered. Either he didn't see them or didn't care. He touched her core and Sharon's thighs parted all by themselves, it seemed. He even kissed her inner thighs, and followed it with soft nips on the tender flesh.

Her hips bucked up when Andy's mouth touched her _there_. And he acted like he enjoyed it. He was driving her to madness, she knew. Nothing could feel this good, but it did and she moved so much under his mouth he had to hold her thighs steady to continue.

Now, Andy was feeling smug. He hadn't run across a female yet who wasn't all about oral sex. And besides, with Sharon being sore, this was a logical, delicious alternative. He did enjoy it. He loved feeling a woman come apart because of what he was doing to her. There was nothing else like it.

Sharon was grasping the sheet, moaning, gasping, writhing, unable to stop herself. Her climax coiled around her thighs, her center and took her in a rush of heat, as she screamed Andy's name and once again, went completely limp afterward. He kissed his way back up her body and she folded him into her arms. "That was so, so good," she managed to murmur.

He chuckled. "Never would have known if you hadn't told me. But I'm glad. See, I told you once wasn't enough."

"I'll pay you back once I can move," she said, already half-asleep.

"We've got all morning. I'm in no hurry," he answered. He spooned her body against his and they slept again, this time with Andy staying awake for just a short while, wondering how in the world this happened, and how he could keep it from slipping through his fingers.

When Andy woke again, he could smell something cooking. He turned over and looked at the clock on the nightstand: 9:30. Not too late. He sat up, stretched and yawned, and then looked around. He hadn't noticed Sharon's bedroom last night, but it was like the rest of the house: tasteful and classic. No surprises there. The surprise was that he saw his clothing folded neatly on a chair, along with a bathrobe. He grinned. Leave it to Sharon Raydor to pick the clothes up off the floor. The smells from the kitchen were getting better, so he decided to investigate. She had even folded up his underwear, brave woman, and left it with the rest of his clothes. Underwear and robe donned, he went into the kitchen. Sharon stood at the stove in a T-shirt and plaid pajama shorts, drinking a cup of coffee.

Andy came up behind her softly, and put his arms around her. "Morning."

She leaned her head back against him. "Good morning. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. I have bread for toast, English muffins and some bagels. Or, those leftover rolls are great with strawberry jam, too. Coffee's on."

He nuzzled in her hair and kissed her neck. "Sounds great. But you didn't have to go to so much trouble. I could have gone out for some doughnuts or something."

"It honestly isn't any trouble. I told you I love to cook."

"O.K. Mind if I ask what's on the menu?"

"Swiss and mushroom quiche."

"Sounds delicious, but that's trouble, Sharon."

She turned to face him. "No it isn't. Not with a frozen pie crust and a food processor. Everything just goes in, hit the button, pour it in the shell and you're done."

"If you say so, but it sounds like trouble to me."

"It's not. Want some coffee?"

"In a second." Andy tipped her chin up and kissed her slowly, sensually, deeply. When he broke the kiss, she was staring at him, eyes wide. "I'll take that coffee now," he said, grinning at her.

"Huh? Oh, of course. There's a cup for you beside the pot. You take it black, right?"

"Yeah." He poured his coffee and turned to her. "So whose robe is this? Your husband's?"

She nodded. "It's all I had."

"It works. Thanks for thinking of it. I wasn't ready to get dressed yet."

"Good."

Andy seated himself at the bar. "So tell me about why you've been separated for twenty years and not divorced."

Sharon sipped her coffee. "Like I told Gabriel, it's all very Catholic. I know we need to do something about it, but neither one of us has really taken the initiative. It was just easier to leave it as it was. John proposed separation as a temporary solution and it just worked out for both of us."

"So what happened?"

"Well, as I also told Gabriel, John drank and then started gambling. Before he spent everything we had, I opened a bank account in my name only and my paychecks went there. I bought this place outright, so he has no claim on it, no matter what happens. Something never was quite right, though. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was always a distance between us. I always got the impression he married me out of some sort of dynastic obligation, or something."

Andy looked at Sharon doubtfully. "He's an idiot, then."

She grinned. "I've said that quite often in the intervening years, but for different reasons."

"Does he live in L.A.?"

"He divides his time. He lives here, in San Francisco and in Las Vegas."

"Gotta feed the gambling habit, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

The timer sounded and Sharon went to the oven. She checked the quiche and took it out and set it on the counter. Andy immediately went to inspect it. "Oh my God. That looks incredible," he said.

"I hope it's good."

"Anything that looks and smells like that is good. So this one's mine. Where's yours?" he said with a laugh.

"You'd better taste it before you claim the whole thing," Sharon said. She cut the quiche and fixed two servings.

Andy tasted his and said, "Mmmm. You should open a restaurant. Seriously."

"Then where would I find the time to keep an eye on that disaster area known as Major Crimes?"

"Smart ass," was Andy's only comment, and Sharon grinned. As they ate, he asked, "So does Rusty know about this? How does he feel?"

She shrugged. "He told me before I had a chance to tell him. Nothing gets by that kid," she answered.

"He's OK with it?"

"Want to know his exact words?"

Andy grinned. "Sure. I'll bet they were interesting."

"He said if we wanted to do, and I quote, 'the horizontal bop,' it was no skin off his nose."

Andy's eyes widened and then he burst into laughter. "I'd give my pension to have seen the look on your face when he said that!"

"And that's not even the worst of it."

"Oh, do tell. Please. I've gotta hear this."

"He said he didn't realize that two old people could be so attracted to each other, but you were a nice-looking man for someone your age and I am a really pretty older lady, so it was fine with him." She finished with a wry look.

By this time, Andy was laughing so hard, he could barely speak. "Teenagers. They really are the living end. But you know we'd have said the same thing at 16. Just not to an adult. That kid's shut up button doesn't work too well, does it?"

Sharon shook her head. "I'm not sure he has one. Oh, and he also said if I needed any _advice_, he would be happy to offer it."

"Advice. Oh, God." Andy started chuckling again. "Provenza would have knocked him into the middle of next week. What did you do?"

"Told him I was going to do something awful to him if he didn't go away."

Andy nodded. "That works." He stood, cleared the table, then turned to Sharon. "You know, I seem to remember you mentioned payback?" He nodded in the direction of the bedroom.

"You're awful, Andy," Sharon said with a smile as she started walking.

"You don't have any idea just how awful I am," he chuckled.

"I can guess." She continued walking toward the bedroom when Andy caught up with her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her breathless.

"Every time I see you, that's what I want to do to you," he said.

Sharon smiled at him. "You are terrific for my ego."

"Nice to know I'm good for something." He led her into the bedroom and took off the robe. She went to him and hooked her thumbs into the waist of his underwear. She slid the shorts down and ran her hands down his backside appreciatively.

"I love your body. And I always pay my debts, so it's your turn to lie back and enjoy yourself," she said, touching him and making him draw his breath in with a hiss.

He positioned himself on the bed and crooked a finger at her. "Come here, woman."

"You wait." Sharon pulled her T-shirt off and then wriggled out of her shorts before she joined him on the bed. She kissed him softly. "Your mouth is sinful." She kissed him down his neck and spent her own time nuzzling in his chest hair and licking his nipples.

"That is crazy-makin'," he growled.

She just laughed and kissed lower, paying attention to his scar. She could feel him twitching as she touched and kissed him and felt a sense of her own power. She knew she was driving him nuts. When she finally took him in her mouth, he groaned, "Oh, yeah," and put his head back. He alternated between watching her and closing his eyes in pleasure.

Andy didn't know where Sharon learned how to do this, or if she was just going by instinct, but her instincts were right on target. Of course, being a man, he was amenable to nearly anything she wanted to do, as long as it wasn't painful. A quick hand job would have taken care of his needs, but Sharon was giving him much more than that, and was she ever good at it. She brought him to a delicious climax and he fell back on the bed. After a moment, he opened his eyes to see Sharon smirking at him. "Now, who's smug?" he asked.

She crawled up beside him. "Was it good?"

"Nah. You need practice. Two or three times a day at least. Of course it was good, woman. What do _you _think?"

"I think I wore you out."

He sighed sleepily. "Good food and good sex. Lethal combination. We've got time for one more nap."

"We do," Sharon agreed, and pressed herself against him, falling happily asleep again.

Andy gave her another deep kiss before he left, shortly before one. "I'll call you. Satisfied with he bargain you made?" His grin was wolfish.

"Get out of here, you stinker," she said, but her smile was teasing.

* * *

"Did you have a good time, Rusty?" Sharon asked him on the way home.

"Yeah. It was cool. Thanks for letting me go."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you had a good time. I think you needed this."

"Yeah. So how'd it go with Flynn?"

"We had a very nice evening."

"And?"

"And what, Rusty?"

He rolled his eyes. "And was it _really _nice? You know what I mean!"

Sharon gasped. "I am NOT discussing that with you! It's none of your business, to begin with, and it's completely inappropriate!"

"Inappropriate? C'mon. Maybe if you were talking to some kid who hadn't been a street treat for seven months. But me? Jeez. Don't be shy."

"I think you have a streak of voyeur in you. And that's all I'm going to say about it, period."

Rusty leaned back in the seat and laughed. "Man, you two must have gone at it like rabbits."

This time, Sharon did pull over into a parking lot. She stopped the car and faced him. "That was crude, Rusty. And it was disrespectful. The intimate details of my relationships are my business, not yours. I'm an adult and I have that privilege."

"O.K., O.K.! Man, for somebody who got laid last night, you sure are uptight!"

Sharon turned the Raydor Glare on him. "Rusty, I have never advocated corporal punishment, but right now, you are about a millimeter from getting your face slapped. I am deadly serious." Her voice had turned to ice.

Rusty shifted uncomfortably. He had obviously screwed up. "Hey, I'm sorry Sharon. That was over the line. I shouldn't have said it. I'm really sorry, O.K.?

She stared at him for another long minute, just to reinforce the lesson. "O.K. Let's go home."

"Sure."

Sharon pulled back into traffic. She'd heard Chief Johnson say once that she'd like to pinch someone's head off. That about summed it up.

"Hey, Sharon. We saw a really old movie last night, but it was cool."

"What movie was it?" Her tone was more normal.

"It was about a pink submarine in World War II. Uhh, 'Operation Petticoat'! It was really funny. I didn't know they even made color movies back then."

"Back then? It was made in what, 1958 or 59, wasn't it? Most movies were in color by then," Sharon said. The ignorance of youth.

"Oh. Well, it was funny. I liked the guy with the tattoo on his chest."

Sharon thought a moment. "Oh yes. Gavin McLeod. He was Captain Stubing on 'The Love Boat' later on."

"Seriously? That is messed up!"

"Why? A lot of actors work for many years."

"I guess. But I liked the movie, anyway."

"I'm glad you did. It's a good one." She was glad they hadn't watched some action flick. He didn't need any more violence in his life.

When they got back to Sharon's place, Rusty took his backpack to his room and on his way back to the den, glanced into Sharon's bedroom. Nothing was out of place. The bed was made – everything looked normal. Nothing out of the ordinary in the den, either, except he saw a record on her turntable. He went to look at it. "I'm Getting Sentimental Over You" was the name of the song. Wow. He took it off the player and put it back in its sleeve. He just didn't understand old people. They listened to this stuff, but didn't want to talk about it. Well, if this record was the best she got last night, she probably _wouldn't_ want to talk about it. Shrugging, he turned back to the kitchen. Sharon had started the dishwasher. Her cell rang and she picked it up. "Hey," she said, a new tone in her voice. Had to be Flynn, Rusty thought.

Sharon looked over to Rusty, frowned and went into her bedroom and closed the door. "I needed a little privacy," she told Andy.

"So was he all right with it?"

"Can you believe he wanted details? Honestly! I nearly slapped him!" she said, frustrated.

Andy laughed. "I'd believe almost anything about that kid. But I'm glad you stood your ground with him. He needs to learn some manners."

"About some things, yes."

"So, how about I take you both out to dinner tonight? I'm a little lonely over here all by myself."

Sharon chuckled in spite of herself. "Haven't you seen enough of me for one day?"

"Not possible," he answered. "Six sound good?"

"Yeah. I think I need a little backup where Rusty is concerned tonight."

"You've got it, babe," he replied. "See you at six."

She came out of the bedroom and said, "Andy's taking us out to dinner at six."

"And then I get ditched so you two can have some alone time, right?"

Slapping him wasn't enough. Choking him crossed her mind. She took a deep breath. "In case you haven't noticed, Rusty, I take my custody of you very seriously. I understand that your mother's actions with the men in her life have had a profound impact on you."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "But you're different, right?" His tone was cynical.

"I am. I think I've been proving that to you these past few weeks that I am different from many of the adults you've known. I gave you a chance by allowing you to go to that sleepover. Are you willing to give me a chance?"

Rusty hated it when Sharon's logic didn't give him a loophole. She _had_ let him go, even after his poor behavior the week before. And all she was asking him to do was trust that she and Andy wouldn't drop him off somewhere so they could be alone. "O.K. But you'd better be telling me the truth."

"Have I lied to you yet, that you know of?"

"No. I don't guess so."

She nodded. "And I'm not starting now. So, why don't you get whatever homework you have out of the way so you don't have to rush it tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, all right," he said and went to his room. Sharon looked after him. That child was so damaged on so many levels. It brought tears to her eyes. How could a mother do to her child what Sharon Beck had done to Rusty? Even though she had seen the scenario played out dozens of times, as a mother, it still baffled her.

* * *

Andy was at Sharon's door promptly at six and when she answered it, she looked around to see if Rusty was peeking out into the hallway. Andy dropped a kiss behind her ear. "Didn't want to mess up your lipstick," he said.

"Thank you."

"Where's you-know-who?"

"In his room. He's been there most of the afternoon. I looked in about 30 minutes ago and told him he needed to get dressed. He gave me the 'whatever' look but didn't say anything."

"That quiche was at 10 this morning. I'm a little hungry, so he'd better get his butt out here if he wants to eat," Andy replied. "But we'll give him a couple of minutes."

They sat on the sofa and talked softly, holding hands for a while, when Andy looked at his watch.

Sharon noticed and said, "I'll go tell him again."

Andy grinned. "Let me do it. Do you mind?"

"As wimpy as it sounds, no," she replied.

Andy nodded and went to Rusty's room. He knocked and heard, "Yeah. What?"

He opened the door. "It's 6:15. Sharon and I are ready to go. Are you?"

"Not yet."

"Sharon said she told you 45 minutes ago to get dressed. We're leaving with or without you."

"She told me she wouldn't ditch me. I should have known better," he sulked.

"This isn't us ditching you. This is you being responsible enough to get your butt off that bed, put some jeans on and being ready on time. It's not rocket science."

"I'm sick of adults telling me what to do."

Andy shrugged. "Too bad. People will be telling you what to do your whole life. So, you can either get a move on or get left. I invited both of you out to dinner, but if you don't want to go, that's on you." Andy's parenting style with teens was tell them what was expected, and if they didn't do it, they faced the consequences. Nagging wasn't in his nature, and it was useless, anyway.

"It would be really good if I didn't go, wouldn't it? Then you two could go get a hotel room or something."

Andy hung on to his temper with great effort. This kid would try Mother Theresa's patience. "Stop being a jackass, Rusty. You can do better. Are you going with us or not?"

That was the other thing about Andy, Rusty remembered. He never minced words. He was always direct and got right to the point. "Yeah," he said.

Andy looked at his watch. "You've got five minutes. Starting now." He went back to the den.

"Well?"

"I told him he could stay or go, his choice, but if he was going, he had five minutes."

"I don't want to leave him after I told him I wouldn't ditch him."

Andy looked wryly at her. "I told him getting left because he wouldn't get it in gear was different than being ditched. It is. And he's not going to get the idea that either one of us is a pushover and all he has to do is sulk in his room and we'll give in. Not gonna happen."

"Most of the time, I stay strong, but believe me, you backing me up is appreciated."

Andy put his arm around Sharon's shoulders. "With teenagers, and especially with that one, doing it all by yourself all the time is guaranteed to put you in the nuthouse."

She nodded and grinned when Rusty appeared. "O.K. I'm ready to go," he said.

"Let's be on our way then," Sharon replied.

After dinner was over, Sharon had excused herself to the ladies room, which left Andy and Rusty alone.

"Would you really have left me at home?" Rusty asked.

"Yeah. You were invited somewhere, you weren't ready and you were being a jackass. It's rude as hell and I wasn't going to let you get by with thinking that was all right."

"You're not my dad."

"Doesn't matter. If you're invited to go somewhere, you either don't go at all, or you're ready at the time the person inviting you asks you to be ready. That's just basic good manners." They were at a Thai restaurant and Andy sipped a cup of hot tea.

Rusty shot back, "Maybe nobody taught me manners."

"No time like the present to learn, then," Andy said. "Look. It's part of being a real adult. A man, O.K.? Nobody gives you the time of day unless you show some respect. Not in the real world. You want to know how to get along with Sharon? Stop trying to play the angles. Stop trying to game her. I know that's how you survived on the streets. I understand, believe me. You do what you've gotta do when you're in that situation. But you're not there anymore, so it's time to drop that habit. She's not trying to game you and you can take that to the bank."

"Would you do that to me?"

Andy grinned. "Probably, if I thought it was the only way to get you to do something you needed to do. Not ordinarily, though. But you're a hard case, sometimes. Look, Rusty. When I was 16, I thought I knew everything. I loved my folks, but I thought they were trying to keep me from doing stuff just because they weren't into it. I figured out later on it was because they wanted to keep me safe."

"Like what kind of stuff?"

"Drag racing. Really popular in my neighborhood, and I had friends with street rods. 'Fast and Furious' had nothin' on us. That's a movie. We were idiots. Ma used to tell me something bad was gonna happen and I laughed at her. I thought she was being overprotective."

"So what happened?"

Andy turned his face so Rusty could see the right side and pointed to a pockmark scar. "See that? Glass. This was before you had to wear seatbelts and all. My buddy was driving, turned a corner, lost it, and the guy racing us T-boned us in the rear quarter panel. If it had been in the front, one of us would have been killed. As it was, my buddy got a bruised kidney, two broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung, a broken ankle, etc. I got out with a broken collarbone and a head full of glass and a concussion, where I did a faceplant on the passenger side window and broke it out. A three-inch shard was buried in my face right where that crater is. When Ma and Dad got to the hospital, I thought she was gonna finish the job the other car started. Ma was born in from Italy and my aunt said she was so upset, she couldn't even speak English, but she had plenty to say in Italian. I got the gist of it, though, let me tell you."

"But nobody was killed, right?"

"By the grace of God. But when Sharon asks you not to do some things, it's not because she's trying to keep you from having a good time or whatever. She's trying to keep you safe. That's the bad part of having a cop as a parent. We've seen too many godawful things happen to young people just because they did something stupid. So cut her some slack, why don't you?"

"Why does she want me in bed at 10:30?"

"So you can get enough sleep to drag yourself out of the bed in the morning and get to school on time," Andy answered.

"I'm sick of having a cop car pick me up at school. I know. I'm a material witness in a murder trial. She won't even buy me a bus pass!" Rusty was clearly frustrated.

Andy sighed. "Now, I can see your point about the cop car. That makes it tough on you. I'll talk to her about that. Maybe you could carpool with one of your friends."

"She doesn't want me at home by myself, either."

Andy grinned. "I never knew she had such a streak of mother hen in her. That's a trip. Look. I don't know what we can work out, but I will talk to her. But you've got to be willing to give a little, too."

Rusty appeared to accept this. "Why do Buzz and Lieutenant Provenza hate me?"

"Provenza doesn't much like anyone. He's an old grouch. Buzz is a tech-head and doesn't like his routine disturbed. They don't hate you, but you are throwing their routines out of whack."

"Provenza hates Detective Sykes."

That got a chuckle from Andy. "He doesn't hate her. She gets on his nerves, like the rest of us do. But he thinks she's a brown-noser."

"Is she?"

"She can be, but she is a good detective, and she's seen combat in Afghanistan. Julio says she's cool as a cucumber under fire. We can always use somebody like that."

"What's the deep discussion?" Sharon asked as she came back to the table.

Before Andy could answer, Rusty said, "About whether Detective Sykes is a brown-noser or not."

Sharon glared at Andy, who put up his hands defensively. "Rusty asked me why Provenza doesn't like Sykes. I answered him. Nothing wrong with that!"

Sharon's eyes narrowed, but she let the subject drop.

* * *

Rusty thought about deliberately staying in the den, just to be an irritant to Sharon and Andy as they sat on the sofa and talked, but decided that was a little too sixth grade, so he retired to his room.

Sharon exhaled in relief when she heard Rusty's door close. She looked at Andy. "Brown-nosing? Really?"

He shook his head. "Rusty asked why Provenza hated Sykes. I said he didn't hate her, but she got on his nerves and HE thought she was a brown-noser. My exact words."

"And did you offer an opinion, too?"

An eye roll. "I said she can be, but she's still a good detective. I think you and I have had the conversation about the lack of a working shut-up button where that kid is concerned."

"You're correct. We did." She sighed. "How can I do this?"

"You can do it Sharon," Andy said, taking her hand. "But you have to go into it realizing you're looking at a stacked deck. The kid has no father, for all intents, and a piss-poor mother who left him at the freakin' zoo! And before that, who knows how many jerk-off boyfriends paraded in and out of his life? It's a wonder he gets along as well as he does. But there's no doubt you've got to teach him things he should have learned years ago."

"You have a way of stripping a situation down to its bare bones, Andy. But that's exactly what I'm facing, no question."

"You'll be fine. That kid may not quite realize it yet, but he's got it made in the shade."

"You think so."

"Know so. But, I did say I'd ask you about working out a way for him to be picked up from school. Really, does it have to be a black and white? He didn't say, but I'm guessing he's really catching hell about it."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Ever heard of carpooling? Maybe one of his chess club buddies lives close enough so you could arrange for a ride there."

"And then what? He goes in to an empty house and gets into who knows what? I can't just turn him into a latchkey kid!" She was obviously distressed.

Andy shook his head. "Look here. When he's at the station, we're mostly ignoring him if we've got a case. If we don't, he's ignoring us. What's the difference? If he's here, and stays here, you still know where he is, and if it makes you feel better, you can get a unit to cruise by occasionally."

"I just feel like I'm not doing what I'm supposed to do if I allow him to stay home alone all the time."

"You're not. It's after school. Give him a little rein, Sharon. You've got a landline. Tell him you could call at any time and if he's not there, he's in trouble and has to start getting picked up again by a black and white and staying at the station. Show him you trust him a little. Otherwise, he's gonna keep pulling your chain any chance he gets. If he screws up, follow through with what you said you'd do."

"You're awfully wise considering you don't have children at home."

He laughed. "I know what worked for me and my siblings. That was how Ma did it. Tell us what she expected and what would happen if we didn't toe the line. If we messed up, she followed through. We knew she was serious. So she didn't have to follow through very often. One or two episodes of no TV for a couple of weeks was enough."

She snuggled to his side. "Thanks. I'm assuming we're planning on seeing each other on a regular basis."

"That was my idea," he answered, teasing.

"What do we tell the squad?"

"Nothing. We go on exactly like before. I promise to annoy you regularly."

"All right. We'll see how it goes."


	9. Chapter 9: Rage and Romance

**A/N:** The latest! Please keep those reviews coming! They inspire and motivate me! Enjoy!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Rage and Romance**

Sharon was up early the next morning. She sat on her patio, drinking coffee. She needed to think, to figure out what was going on in her life. How long had she really been fighting an attraction to Andy? At least since his attack, although maybe it hadn't come so much to the fore before then. But after she was named head of Major Crimes, he had stayed in her brain far too often. Last night, she had seen Andy's paternal side, and it pleased her no end. Somehow, he knew exactly the right tactic to take with Rusty. He told Rusty what was expected of him, and that was the end of it. Sharon always felt Rusty was the sort of kid who needed a strong male presence in his life. She had managed without it with her children, and knew millions of other single mothers did too, but in this case, Andy was a godsend. Rusty had to know there was someone around who didn't fall for all the teenage angst BS he threw out. Andy saw right through it.

He was no saint, though. Perhaps she had been idealizing him a little. She had to keep in mind that Andy would be the first person to say he was far from perfect. There was still his temper, and the alcoholism, and his sarcastic big mouth. But she also knew that his loyalty to Chief Johnson had been complete, and she could count on the same thing. "Andy loves with his whole heart," she said aloud. She wasn't sure she could give that much. But she would certainly try.

"What are you doing up this early?" Rusty asked, as he stepped on to the patio.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied.

"Had to go to the bathroom."

"I'm just here enjoying the morning."

"Oh."

"I have an idea," she said.

"What?"

"There's a great place in Santa Monica that has an incredible brunch buffet. All you can eat. They start at ten. Interested?" Sharon felt she needed to do something just for the two of them.

"Brunch buffet? Like what kind of food?"

"Oh, everything you can think of. Made to order omelets, seafood, pancakes, French toast, you name it, they have it. But if you want to go, I need to call them and make our reservation."

He shrugged. "Sounds good. O.K. Just us?"

She nodded. "Just us."

Sharon had forgotten what happened when you put a teenage boy in front of an all-you-can-eat anything. Rusty didn't have an ounce of fat on him, but he could hide the food. Sharon lost count of the plates and privately thought the restaurant lost money on him.

On the way home, he shifted comfortably in his seat. "Thanks Sharon. That was awesome. I won't eat again for a week, I don't think."

She doubted that, but said, "You're welcome. What was your favorite thing you ate?"

He thought about it. "The apple pancakes were the bomb. But the crab stuff on the English muffins was great, too. What did you call it?"

"The crab benedict? That was pretty awesome. I think I'll be ready for a nap when we get back."

"Totally," he said.

Hours later, Sharon was still full, but Rusty was nosing around in the kitchen. She had talked to Andy earlier, and just hearing his voice had made her day. It was going to be difficult to be all business at work, but she would manage.

* * *

Sharon had been at the station for an hour or so when a courier brought her a thick envelope. She looked at it curiously, opened it, adjusted her glasses and began to read.

Some while later, she peeked out of her office. "Lieutenant Flynn, may I see you?"

"Sure Captain," he said, and shrugging at Provenza, went into her office.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Sit down," she answered with a grin. "I can't believe my beloved husband has made anything easier for me, but he has. I guess he was waiting until long past the time to pay child support or alimony."

"He's asking for a divorce? After 20 years? I thought you said this was a Catholic thing."

"On my part anyway. No, this is better. He's asked for an annulment."

Andy's eyes flew open. "An annulment? On what grounds?" This was a shocker.

Sharon's grin grew wider. "Well, it really does explain a great deal about his behavior, and I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. He's gay. Says he knew it when we married, but thought he could get past it, but that he entered the marriage under false pretenses, so he wants it annulled."

"That does explain how he could make love to you and still leave you. He has to be gay. No other explanation," Andy answered.

Sharon looked at him over her glasses. "Again, you're good for my ego. I'll let _him_ tell our children. He's going to fulfill that obligation."

"So what now?"

"Well, he's got the paperwork for the ecclesiastical tribunal. All I have to do is sign it. Which I will, gladly. He's also filed for a civil divorce, and all I have to do is sign that. We don't have any property in common. Nothing for him to do, or me, for that matter. And in 60 days, it will be final." She sat back. "What a relief."

"I guess so. Not like he was really in your life anyway. Now you can toss his suits."

She laughed. "With pleasure. You know Andy, I wouldn't trade my children for anything. They were by far the best thing I got out of that marriage. Otherwise, well..." her voice trailed off.

"You think you have to explain anything to me? No way."

"I know I don't. I just wanted to let you know about this."

He stood and grinned. "Made my day, let me tell you." He left her office, and she started signing papers furiously.

"What was that all about?" Provenza asked.

"Paperwork."

His partner rolled his eyes. "She's addicted to the stuff," he said.

"I know that's right," Flynn answered. He was thrilled. With Sharon's husband out of the way, and hardly likely to reappear, all sorts of possibilities opened up.

"Any sign of Rusty's mom in the past few days?" Raydor asked as she came out of her office.

"Nothing, Captain," Tao answered. "It's like she's dropped off the face of the earth."

Sharon shook her head. "Then we'd better start checking the morgues," she sighed. "I hate the thought, but it would be irresponsible not to. My suspicion is she can't travel too far because of her money situation. So, Lieutenant Flynn, please send her photo out to the county morgues in Southern California. Lieutenant Tao, if you'll take care of western Arizona and Detective Sykes, please cover Nevada, especially Vegas and Reno."

"Sure thing, Captain," Tao said.

After lunch, Provenza's phone rang. "Yeah. Give me the address. I've got it," he said. "Roll out people. We've got a body. Captain, you driving or riding with me and Flynn?"

"I'll ride with you. We have to save money where we can. Mike, why don't you and Detective Sykes and Sanchez go together as well? That's two cars instead of four."

They arrived at the scene and Provenza grumped, "Why have we been to so many damn shopping malls lately?"

"Luck of the draw," Flynn replied. He got out of the car and opened the back door for Raydor. As she got out, he looked over his sunglasses at her at winked. She could feel her face flushing, but exited the car without a word.

"All right, Officer. Fill me in, please," Raydor said to the uniform in charge of the scene.

He shrugged. "Possible road rage. We have one victim, white male, age 25. His brother, age 19, was in the vehicle and gave us a statement, but I'm sure you'll want to talk to him again. We have a suspect ready for transport and his girlfriend, who was in another car."

Raydor knitted her eyebrows. "So what, exactly, do we think happened here?"

The officer shook his head. "Apparently, the suspect's girlfriend thought our victim cut her off in traffic, and got on the phone with her boyfriend to tell him about it. He was a couple of cars behind her, but nearly caused three accidents catching up to the victim's car, and tracked him to this parking lot. There was an altercation and he shot the victim in the back, according to the brother. The suspect said he thought the victim was going for a gun. He said that after we read him his rights."

"Was the victim armed?"

"We didn't find a gun anywhere in his truck, or on him, Captain."

"Thank you, Officer. Please transport the suspect, the girlfriend and the brother downtown and we'll clear the scene from here."

"Will do, Captain," the officer replied.

Raydor turned. "Obviously, first we need backgrounds on all those involved, including the brother. Detective Sykes, please take care of that. Detective Sanchez, I want those cell phone records for the suspect and the girlfriend, pronto. Lieutenant Tao, check on the vehicles in question. See if any of them have GPS units or lo-jack units we can use to pinpoint their locations and paths of travel. Lieutenant Provenza, hurry things along in ballistics, please. Lieutenant Flynn, I know we're covering ground twice, but I don't want to miss anything. Please talk to the witnesses again and make sure we get their statements nailed down."

"Will do, Captain," Flynn answered and went to his car for a fresh notebook and another pen.

Sharon went to the man from the coroner's office, who was checking the body. "What do you see?"

"Well, always, Morales will have to back me up, but our vic was definitely shot in the back, fairly close range, maybe eight to 10 feet."

"Anything else?"

"Just looking at the way he fell, I have to wonder if he was trying to get back into his vehicle."

Raydor tapped her toe on the pavement. "I see. Thank you."

* * *

Raydor was in the morgue with Dr. Morales. "Our victim is Jason Letson. Cause of death, obviously, gunshot wound, 9 millimeter, to the back."

"The coroner's assistant said Mr. Letson might have been getting back into the truck when he was shot. Is that a possibility?"

Morales nodded. "Explains the contusions on the back of the head and the scraped elbows. If he had just been standing, chances are he would have fallen forward, or you know, crumpled, when the bullet hit him. However, if he was getting into his truck, the only way he could have fallen was backward."

"And we know he didn't have a gun, so it was likely he was trying to leave to get out of the situation," Raydor mused.

"I'd say that fits," Morales answered.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said and went upstairs.

When she appeared in the murder room, Tao was updating the board. "Our suspect, Tim Cauthen, is in interview one. The girlfriend, Britley Whitten, is in two and the vic's brother, Cody Letson is in the conference room."

"Very good. Thank you. What else do we have?"

Sykes raised her hand. "Jason Letson had a minor possession charge three years ago, but nothing since then. Cauthen is 44 and has a clean record. Whitten, 24, has numerous speeding tickets and has been to traffic court three times in two years. She just got her license back after a 60-day suspension. Cody doesn't have a record."

"All right. Anything else?"

Sanchez said, "Ma'am, I got the cell phone dumps. Whitten and Cauthen were on the phone non-stop from the time she called him, immediately after the alleged incident, right up until he pulled into the parking lot."

"I see."

"Wouldn't we love to have a recording of _that_ conversation?" Flynn said.

"Oh, we would indeed. And the witnesses, Lieutenant Flynn?"

"Well, there's the usual variation, like you get with eyewitnesses, but to the last one, they said Letson was getting into his truck. As in, not reaching into it for something, but getting in to close the door. Three of the five say they heard Letson tell Cauthen he had called 911 and he needed to leave him – Letson, that is – alone, before the cops got there. They were kind of inconsistent about what was actually said between the two men, but basically, it was, 'Why are you following me?' 'Why did you cut off my girlfriend?' 'What are you talking about?' 'Don't walk away from me,' 'Go to hell,' that kind of thing. One witness said Cauthen got out of his car with his gun in the waist of his pants. None of the others saw it, but they weren't where they could see his back. They did say they didn't see Letson armed, or acting like he had a gun. He turned his back on Cauthen and started to get into his truck, when Cauthen shot him."

Raydor nodded. "Lieutenant Provenza, the ballistics?"

"Bullet's a match to the gun we got from Cauthen. No doubt," he answered.

Tao was still up at the murder board, drawing diagrams. "All the participants had lo-jack modules in their cars, and we were able to sync them with each other. Here's how it played out." He pointed to the map. "Letson pulled into traffic here, and Britley Whitten's car was here."

Raydor peered at the map. "He was at least, 200 yards ahead? There's no way he could have pulled directly out in front of her!"

Tao nodded. "Right. She tails him to this intersection, and then Cauthen joins the party. They're both behind him, and a couple of patrol officers said they were honking at him, and nearly caused a couple of accidents to stay behind him. They were both right behind him all the way to the shopping center."

"This is looking more and more like premeditation," Flynn said."

Provenza nodded. "Or, as they would say in Scotland Yard, like 'malice aforethought.' In other words, he was up to no good when he pulled into that shopping center, whether he had murder on his mind, or not. He wasn't there to have a friendly lunch with Letson, that's for damn sure."

Raydor looked at the board one more time and then at the squad. "All right. Detective Sykes, please talk to Cody Letson. Be gentle. He saw his brother die today. Detective Sanchez, interview Britley Whitten. Be charming. See what you can get her to tell you. Lieutenant Provenza, you and I will talk to Mr. Cauthen. Thank you all for your hard work."

Flynn turned to Tao. "C'mon, Mike. Let's see what the loving couple has to say." He nodded toward the electronics room.

"This should be good," Tao replied. They went into the electronics room and sat down to listen and watch.

Sanchez was talking to Britley. "Ms. Whitten, did you have any idea Mr. Cauthen would shoot Jason Letson?"

She rolled her eyes. "That guy was a jerk. Cut me off in traffic. But no, I never expected Tim to pull a gun."

"Did you know he owned a gun?"

"Sure. He kept it in the console of his car."

Sanchez nodded. "But you knew he would protect you, right? If you needed it, that is."

"Oh, yeah. Of course. He'd do anything."

"Even if really wasn't the person who actually cut you off in traffic?"

She looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Just that your car was at least 200 yards from Jason Letson when you say he pulled out in front of you. That's the length of two football fields."

"It was that guy! He could have killed me!" she protested.

"Maybe someone did cut you off, but it wasn't Jason Letson. Your boyfriend killed the wrong guy. And you told him to do it."

"No I didn't! I called him because I was pissed and he came out on his own. I didn't tell him to kill anybody!"

"Maybe not in those words, but you told him you wanted some payback."

"No! I just said guys like that ought not to be on the road."

"Right," Sanchez replied.

In the other interview room, Cauthen was proclaiming self-defense. "The guy was reaching for a gun!"

"No he wasn't," Raydor said. "He was getting into his truck to drive it away. He was standing on the running board, getting ready to get into the truck."

Provenza scowled at the man. "And none of that explains why you followed Jason Letson to the parking lot, let alone getting out of the car with your gun. We have a witness who saw you with the gun. Mr. Cauthen, don't you get this? You killed a man in cold blood, and for what? Maybe pulling out in front of your girlfriend? She couldn't get his license plate numbers and call 911? And you nearly caused a few wrecks tailing him. You wanted to start something. You weren't just following a stupid driver. You were out for blood, one way or the other. You killed that man. And now you're facing the death penalty! The _death _penalty!"

Finally, it became clear that the adrenaline was running out and Cauthen was coming down. He started to shake. "No. I wasn't going to kill him. I just wanted to scare him. Let him know someone saw what he did."

"Mr. Cauthen, he didn't cut Ms. Whitten off in traffic. He was too far ahead of her car for that to have happened. You followed, and eventually killed, the wrong man," Raydor told him.

Cauthen's face went pasty white, then he started to gag. Provenza grabbed the trash can and the man threw up into it. Raydor felt like gagging too, but managed to keep herself calm.

In the electronics room, DDA Michaels, who had come in, Buzz, Tao and Flynn all winced with Cauthen vomited, then Flynn said, "His girlfriend pushed him into it. No doubt."

Michaels nodded. "We may have enough to get her as an accessory. Let me go speak to Captain Raydor."

Raydor left the interview room at Michaels' request and they spoke for a few moments. Both then returned to the interview room. Provenza had been to the men's room and got Cauthen some damp paper towels to wipe his face. He looked terrified.

"Mr. Cauthen, I'm DDA Michaels. I may be able to help you. Do you have an attorney?" Cauthen shook his head. "Well, that's the first step. Let me call the public defender's office and get someone in here who can represent you."

Britley Whitten had already asked for an attorney, and she was sitting in the interview room, looking like the injured party.

When the crew gathered in the murder room, DDA Michaels addressed them. "I think we all know we don't really have enough for murder one here. I don't think the guy actually intended to kill Jason Letson. Mostly, he was just stupid. So, let's see if we can get Cauthen to roll on his girlfriend, to tell us that she pushed him to do something. If we can, then she goes down as an accessory, and we offer Cauthen manslaughter."

Provenza nodded. "I can go along with that. One is just about as guilty as the other in this case. Cauthen is just an idiot."

Once Cauthen's attorney arrived and Michaels explained the situation, he readily agreed to advise his client to take the deal. Whitten's attorney didn't like the situation, but even she admitted that her client probably held some culpability in the incident.

Raydor was glad to be able to tell Cody Letson that his brother's killer was going to jail, along with his girlfriend. Cases weren't usually solved so easily, but it was a nice change when they ran into one that was.

* * *

When Sharon got home, she collapsed on the sofa, kicked her heels off and sighed.

"Rough day?" Rusty asked.

"The capacity humans have for completely idiotic behavior never ceases to amaze me. As long as I've been doing this job, it still confounds me how completely stupid some people can be," she answered.

"Good times," he cracked.

"Without a doubt." Sharon looked over at him. "Suppose we order something that can be delivered here?"

"Sounds fine to me. I'll go get the folder." Sharon had a folder with menus from area delivery restaurants. They were looking through it when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Rusty said.

He opened the door. Andy was standing there, holding two large paper bags. "Hi Rusty. Have you guys eaten yet?"

"No."

"Good. I brought dinner then."

Sharon looked at him and smiled. "What a lifesaver you are. Let me go change and I'll be right out."

"Sure. We'll just get everything out of the bags," Andy answered.

Rusty helped Andy with the food, and went to get plates, glasses and cutlery. "What's that?" he said, pointing to some pastry-looking triangles.

"Spanakopita. We're going Greek tonight." He looked at the containers. "Moussaka, no meat. That's mine." At Rusty's quizzical look, he said, "I'm a vegetarian."

"Oh. What else did you get?"

"Chicken souvlaki. I thought you might like that, if you've never had Greek food before. It's a good one for beginners. And I know Sharon likes gyros, so I got the plate for her." He opened two more containers. "Basmati rice, Greek salad, and...where did they put it?" He found a third container. "For dessert, baklava." He looked over at Rusty. "This stuff is incredible. Chief Johnson said if there was anything better than this stuff, the good Lord kept it for himself." Andy grinned. "It is pretty amazing."

"What's amazing?" Sharon said as she came out of the bedroom.

"Baklava," Andy replied.

Her eyes widened. "I'll go put on some coffee now. You just can't enjoy baklava properly without coffee."

They ate and Sharon immediately went to pour a cup of coffee and picked out her piece of the pastry. She ate it and said, "Some of the best I've had."

Rusty said, "Not trying to be a jerk, but the pieces are kind of small."

Andy laughed. "It's soaked in honey. One piece is all you need, believe me." He got his own coffee and sampled the dessert. "This is good."

Rusty looked at it doubtfully. "What's in it?" he asked.

"Honey, walnuts, cinnamon, sugar," Andy answered.

"O.K." Rusty carefully picked up a piece with his thumb and forefinger and sniffed it, then took a bite and chewed. After a moment, he nodded. "This is pretty good stuff." He licked the honey from his fingers. "Yeah, it works."

Sharon smiled, then got up and busied herself cleaning up the leftovers.

"You didn't have to do that," Andy said.

"You and Rusty set it all out. I can clean it up," she replied. When she finished, she flopped on the sofa again.

In an uncharacteristic display of discretion, Rusty said, "Well, I've got homework to do. Catch you later, Andy, and thanks for dinner. It was great."

"You're welcome Rusty. Glad you liked it," he answered and then looked at Sharon with raised eyebrows and glanced down the hall as the boy went to his room and closed the door.

She shrugged. "Maybe all the 'respect and civility' lectures are finally beginning to have some effect. Who knows? Teenagers are nothing if not mercurial," she said.

Andy nodded. "Yeah," he said, then put his arms around Sharon. "C'mere." He kissed her sweetly, and she tasted honey and cinnamon and coffee. She slipped her hands up to stroke his hair.

They sat on the sofa, kissing and touching, as quietly as they could.

Andy chuckled and whispered in her ear. "This is like being at home when you're 16, and trying to cop a feel on your date without your old man seeing you."

Sharon giggled at that and snuggled to him. Andy put his arms around her, his cheek against her hair. "The next time we're alone..." his voice trailed off enticingly.

"Well, I'm not sending Rusty off every weekend."

Andy goosed her ribs. "Didn't say you had to, wisenheimer. I'm just thinking ahead."

She relaxed against his chest. "I could do this every night."

"Me too. I wondered for a long time how you'd feel in my arms. I am not disappointed," he answered, kissing her temple.

"You're such a skirt-chaser."

"But except for you, not a very successful one."

"Andy, I shouldn't tell you this, but it's true. You could take your choice of any single – and some not-so-single – woman in the LAPD. Any of them would jump at a chance to go out with you."

"Did I tell you about Sykes?" he said.

"What's Amy got to do with this?"

He chuckled. "She asked me if I wanted to get some dinner after work a while back. I said sure. We ate and she asked me back to her place."

Sharon turned so she could see Andy's face. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Of course, I said no thanks. Appreciate the offer, but no. I think she still thinks there's a shot, though. Not happening, but she's not going to give up right away."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe this. She propositioned you?"

"Sort of. But I shut her down. I was nice about it, but I wasn't vague, either."

"Well, that should confirm what I said about the single women in the LAPD."

Andy laughed and kissed Sharon again. "You're too much. I have to ask, though. What's a thoroughbred like you doing with a mutt like me?"

"A mutt? Really, Andy. Don't say that about yourself," she protested.

He grinned. "I _am_ a mutt. I'm an Irish-Italian kid right out of the Jersey streets. You come from money, you married money. You wear designer clothes."

"I know I've seen you wear Armani, Andy. Your suits are tailored."

He snickered. "Yeah. From that place, 'Hollywood Rewind' in Beverly Hills. It's a consignment store. They get good stuff. I buy what kind of fits, but you know where I have my suits tailored? Chinatown. There's this little old man, who must be a hundred if he's a day, who does my suits for me. It's the only way I can afford not to dress like a bum! My dress shirts come either from the Rewind place – along with my ties – and from a JC Penney in Pasadena."

Sharon was a little dumbfounded. She had never known what it was like to have to watch her money too carefully. "I didn't know."

"Well, most of the officers who dress well get their clothes from there or another shop like it. I always go about a week after the awards shows. That's when the stars get rid of the stuff they wore, so it's a good time to go. New, an Armani or Prada suit runs about two to three thousand dollars. At Rewind, I can get one for $500. And I'm a regular, so they call me when they get stuff in."

Wow. A whole world she never really thought about. "You're always dressed well, though. It doesn't matter where the clothes come from, and really – how much do men's business suits change? Wider lapels one year, or maybe longer coats. But they don't change much. Fortunately."

He grinned at her. "There's no way most guys could keep up with all the changes women's clothes go through. I don't know how women do it."

"We have 'Vogue' and "Women's Wear Daily.' Otherwise, we'd be lost, too," she answered.

"You still haven't answered my question. There's a class difference, Sharon."

She reached to stroke his cheek. "I don't see a class difference. You might be a little rough around the edges, but with 25 years on the force and over half of those years in homicide, I'd expect you to be a little rough. That's how you survive. And, in spite of popular opinion, you're a gentleman, Andy. Somewhere along the way, you were taught to respect women. It's kind of diluted when you're around Provenza, but it's there all the same."

"Is he that much of an influence?"

Sharon laughed out loud. "Louis Provenza is a bad influence on everyone. I doubt any officer on the force knows the job as well as he does, but he's as grouchy and suspicious an old coot as I've ever met."

"He's also loyal to a fault."

"I don't dispute that for a moment. No one else would have done what he did for you when you relapsed. He's a true friend, no question. It's just all the stuff you have to deal with between you and the friend."

"You have a point," Andy replied with a smile. "So why me?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Lord, you're persistent! Andy, I don't care about class or upbringing differences. And you _did_ chase me, you remember."

"Yeah. Why'd you let me catch you?"

She caressed his thick hair. "I like you. In spite of my better judgment about hotheads and alcoholics, I like you. And," - here she kissed him - "no one, and I mean no one, has ever kissed me like you do. And I'm too old to look for someone else who can make me melt like you do. Why search somewhere else when you've got a good thing right under your nose?"

Andy gave her the grin that shot heat from her cheeks to her toes. It made her want to tear his clothes off. Then, he chuckled, low, and she had to ball her hands into fists to stop them from unbuttoning his shirt. "I love the way you think, babe," he said and kissed her this time. His kisses were as intoxicating as good, aged brandy, and as addictive as any drug.

Andy loved the way Sharon melted to him. Ice queen she sometimes might be, but in his arms, she was all fire and softness. And it was either stop this, or they were going to be on the floor, making out. As long as Rusty was in the house, they had to maintain some sense of decorum. So he raised his head. "That's all I can take," he said softly. "I probably need to go on home, or we're going to end up in an embarrassing position."

She sighed deeply. "How do single mothers do it? I mean, you have to watch your children. How do they manage to date?"

"We'll figure it out, sweetheart," he said, kissing her neck once more.

"I suppose," she replied.

They kissed again as Andy stood at the door. "Thank you again for bringing dinner. That was wonderful."

"Glad to do it," he said. After another kiss, he grinned at her. "I've got an idea about the us thing, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Sharon sounded disappointed.

"Yeah, but if it works out, it'll be good." Mischief danced in his beautiful, dark eyes.

"All right, but you'd better tell me tomorrow!"

"I will. Promise. Good night, babe," he said with one more kiss and he was gone.

Tomorrow sounded _fascinating_, Sharon thought.


	10. Chapter 10: Opportunities

**A/N:** You were waiting for "tomorrow"? It's here. :) Please enjoy and continue to leave those reviews. I read and appreciate each one. Sorry about the editorial column that somehow made an appearance at the bottom of the chapter. Too, too weird. Fixed now!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 10: Opportunities**

The murder room was empty when Sharon got to work the next morning, and she had wondered all the evening before what Andy had in mind for "tomorrow," which was now "today." He was tantalizingly unpredictable.

She was humming an old tune when she checked her e-mail and suddenly, she stopped. "Well. How like him to ruin whatever plans I had today." Her soon-to-be-ex-husband wanted to have lunch. He must have received all the paperwork she had signed the day before. She knew it was coming, though. She knew they would have to talk eventually. Better to get it out of the way now and get it over with. Sighing, Sharon replied to the e-mail, asking him where and when he would like to meet her.

As she sent the e-mail, her phone beeped the text notification. She looked at it. It was from Andy. She was glad no one was in the office yet so she could laugh out loud. The text read: "Noon….er?" with a smiley face. Leave it to Andy. Unfortunately, whatever he had in mind would have to wait. She replied, "I wish. Lunch with my ex today." A couple of minutes passed and the message popped up, "Whatever it takes to get rid of him," and a frowning face. Sharon chuckled again. He made her laugh in spite of herself, and especially when she shouldn't.

An hour or so later, Andy came into her office through the back way and placed a large coffee on her desk. "Grande skinny caramel macchiato, extra shot," he said.

Sharon grinned at him. "Have I said you're a lifesaver lately?"

He shrugged. "Have a great lunch with your ex."

She grimaced. "I'm sure it will be ever so pleasant."

"Call me if you need me," was all he said. He winked at her and left the office. She smiled after him. She could have used him in her life 20 years ago. Well, maybe not, come to think of it.

* * *

Sharon checked her watch. She had been waiting on John for 10 minutes. Of course he was late, and of course, he had picked one of the more expensive restaurants for their chat. She could afford it; she just wanted to get this over with.

Finally, he walked in the door. As always, he was impeccably dressed. He spotted her and came to her. She thought he was about to embrace her, and she stepped back. "Hello, John," she said.

"Hi Sharon. Sorry I'm late. Our table should be ready." He spoke to the maitre'd, who showed them to their place.

"You're looking great, Sharon. I love the Prada suit on you," John said.

"Thank you. You're looking well, too."

They ordered and while waiting on their food, John scrutinized her. "How are the kids?"

"They're fine, but I thought I'd let you break the news to them about the divorce-slash-annulment," she answered.

"Oh, of course. I hear congratulations are in order for you being named the head of Major Crimes. Quite a feather in your cap. Very different from FID, I'm sure."

Sharon nodded. "Oh yes. I'm in the trenches now, you could say. But it's going well, so far." John could be very charming, and was now. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, he had always looked like the archetypal frat boy. He was still handsome, although much of the blond had gone silver. Sharon thought she could see a few changes in his face which might speak of skillful plastic surgery. Well, he could afford it. But she found herself comparing his sculpted profile to Andy's dark good looks. Andy had some lines on his face, and when tired, dark circles under his eyes. But his face was honest. He had earned every line there, and every scar. And his eyes were vivid, alive. John's eyes were always veiled. You could never tell what he was thinking. Sharon much preferred Andy, no doubt.

"Who are you thinking about, Sharon? He must be something else to put that look on your face," John said, breaking her reverie.

She smiled. "No one in particular, John. Really. I was just thinking."

"I don't believe you, but it doesn't matter. We'll continue our discussion after we eat, all right?"

"Certainly," she replied.

When their server had cleared their table, John looked keenly at her. "I notice you didn't waste any time getting that paperwork back to me."

"Why should I? It was simply the legal end to something that actually ended a long time ago. No use prolonging it," she replied, sipping her iced tea.

"I thought I'd hear some recriminations," he said.

Sharon set her glass on the table. "I don't usually deal in recriminations," she said, "but, since you mentioned it, I would have appreciated knowing your sexual preferences a long time ago. Perhaps I wouldn't have spent so many years wondering what was wrong with me. Even if we had remained married, at least I would have known it wasn't just my inadequacies."

He actually had the grace to look a little ashamed. Shocking. "I thought I could change."

"That works for the first five years. What about the next 20? You started drinking, then gambling, and, I'm betting, having indiscriminate sex. At least _we_ weren't sleeping together. I'd probably have genital warts by now. Or worse. If I had just known, at least I could have saved myself several years of therapy. I can understand you thought you might be able to change. That, I get. But when you realized you couldn't, why not just be honest with me? I don't know why so many people wait 15 or 20 years to come out to their spouses. It's going to hurt, regardless, but it would hurt so much less if they would be honest as soon as they knew they couldn't change. Some people might not decide to divorce, even, if they have a good relationship otherwise, until the kids are grown. Of course, our relationship was fairly toxic early on, so that wouldn't have been us, but dear God, John. Why didn't you just _tell_ me?" She didn't raise her voice, but the rage was there, all the same.

"Never was a good time to do it."

"Bullshit." Oh Lord, she was starting to talk like Andy now. "You're selfish, John, and you always have been. Being gay has nothing to do with it. You're just selfish. You didn't want to go through the process. It might inconvenience you. Plus, you'd have to pay me alimony and child support, and God knows you didn't want to do _that_." The look on his face told her she had hit several nerves.

"You misjudge me, Sharon," he answered.

She nodded. "You're right. I misjudged you - when I married you. I thought you loved me. I was a fool. But no more. So, the papers are signed and you tell the kids. I have a couple of your suits at my place. Would you like them back or can I just give them to Goodwill?"

"I don't care." Where did she learn to shut him down like this? Why couldn't he lash back at her?

"No kidding. You never did, come to think of it." She slid the check holder with her ticket across the table to him. "You can pick up the tab. It's the absolute least you owe me for 20 years of lonely hell. Have a nice life, John. Please don't contact me again unless it's an emergency." She rose and left the restaurant without even a backward glance.

John stared after her, wondering if this tower of strength was really the girl he married 25 years ago?

* * *

Andy had a feeling he knew what Sharon's mood would be like after lunch, so he asked the uniform at the officers' checkpoint to call him when she came in. He got the call, stood and said, "Back in a couple." He left the murder room. As soon as Sharon got off the elevator, he was waiting for her. He took her elbow without a word and walked with her to the custodian's supply room. He opened the door, led her inside, shut the door behind him and swept her into his arms for a fiercely passionate kiss.

She hadn't known what was going on, and her protests were just met with "Sssh." Then, he kissed the breath out of her. His mouth was hot and sensual, as he got to her earlobe and nipped it, saying, "You are so beautiful. I want to take you right here. If there was enough room, I would."

She fought him at first, but Andy knew just where to kiss her to make her melt, and as her body softened in his arms, she clung to him with a soft gasp and returned his kiss. Then, "We can't do this here, Andy."

"We can for about 30 seconds." His hands smoothed down her back and over her bottom, pulling her hips to his and kissing her hotly, one hand under her hair, massaging her scalp. He pulled back and grinned wickedly at her. "Go fix your lipstick and hair before you go to your office." And giving her bottom a final, affectionate pat, he was gone.

Sharon was a little – make that a lot – shell-shocked. How did he do that? When Andy kissed her, everything else in her world ceased to matter. He left her feeling sexy, beautiful, powerful. John had never done that. She doubted he was capable of it, even with another man. But after one of Andy's hot, sweet kisses, Sharon felt she could take on the world. How was that possible?

After a trip to the ladies room to fix her hair and makeup, she went back to her office. Andy was at his desk, working diligently, the sneaky devil. Later that afternoon, Rusty called.

"Hey, Sharon? I've got a question."

"What is it?"

"I'm at chess team practice and Derek's mom asked me if I wanted to go home for dinner with them, and then we can study. She said she'd bring us home about 8:30."

Sharon was thrilled Rusty was making friends with nice kids. "Of course you can go. That sounds good. Remember to give Mrs. Porter my cell. Oh, and can you give me hers while I've got you on the line?"

"Sure." She could hear Rusty asking for the number.

"Hi, Captain Raydor? Karen Porter. Here's my cell," and she gave Sharon the information.

"Please call me Sharon, and thank you for inviting Rusty to your home. I know he appreciates it."

"Oh, no problem, Sharon. We're glad to have him over. I'll have him home about 8:30 or so," she replied.

"Sounds great," Sharon said. She hung up and looked at the clock. If they didn't catch a case, she might actually be home a little early tonight. That was a nice change. "I'm so pleased he's got a friend on the chess team," she said aloud. Then a thought hit her. With Rusty gone until about 8:30… She grinned and then chastised herself for having such a high school mentality. She looked up to see Andy leaned back in his chair, going through a folder, legs stretched in front of him. He was so sexy. Who cared if she was thinking like a tenth grader? Opportunities like this must be taken seriously. She called Andy's cell. As usual, he picked it up without even looking at the ID.

"Flynn," he said.

"Andy?" Her voice was sultry and she had the pleasure of watching his eyes widen. "I just got a call from Rusty. He's having dinner with a friend. _He'll_ be home about 8:30. _I'm_ planning on being home by five." And she hung up. She looked at him through the glass. He put his phone back in his coat pocket and resumed reading, betraying nothing with his expression.

"Who was that?" Provenza asked.

"Wrong number," he replied.

Sykes had seen the whole exchange and she wasn't so sure, but with Flynn, you never could tell.

About 4:30, Sharon came out of her office. "Since we thankfully don't have a body, I think we can all go home a little early for a change. We could all use the extra time with our families, I'm sure."

"Thanks, Captain," Tao said. "I'm outta here, then." He grabbed his coat and left.

The rest of the crew was a little slower to drift out, and Sykes _thought_ she saw some meaningful looks between Flynn and Raydor, but she couldn't say for sure.

As soon as Andy got in his car, he sent Sharon a text. "Going by home first. Will be at your place ASAP."

She grinned when she got the text. She didn't need to reply. She looked over to Andy's car. He was watching her and she winked at him.

* * *

Andy wasn't sure exactly what would be waiting for him when he knocked on Sharon's door. The door opened and Sharon's voice said, "Come in." She was standing behind the door. She closed it and Andy turned to see her. His mouth dropped open. Sharon stood in a completely sheer burgundy lace robe, tied with a matching satin sash – and nothing on underneath. She had on matching heels with the feathery stuff on the toes. He couldn't remember what it was called. In fact, most of his blood had suddenly rushed far away from his brain, making thinking a challenge. Her hair was down around her shoulders and the look on her face was as tempting as what she almost wore.

"I'm not even going to ask if you like it," she said. "I can tell. Let's not waste time standing here." She turned to walk into the bedroom and for a second, all Andy could do was watch the motion of her bottom under the robe. Then he shed his jacket and kicked off his shoes. By the time he reached the bedroom, his shirt was in the hall and his T-shirt was in the doorway. Sharon was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, legs elegantly crossed. He fumbled to get his jeans off and stepped out of them, then made for the bed. He raised Sharon up and covered her mouth in a blistering kiss, feeling for the bow of her sash and untying it so he could feel her skin. He found her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples and moving underneath them to touch every inch of skin within his reach.

Sharon could hardly think herself, with Andy's hands and mouth on her, but she managed to get his shorts off, and then she was on her back, with his body leveled above her and he was still kissing her neck and moved lower to take her nipples in his mouth, each in turn, as she gasped and twined her hands in his hair. He moved down, then took the tender skin of the underside of one breast in his mouth, and very deliberately, marked her there. He touched her center and felt the heat and wetness there and as she watched, enthralled, he licked her moisture from his fingers. Andy kissed her again, and growled against her mouth, "You are so wet and ready for me and I want you so bad. I am gonna make you scream for me. You're so hot and sexy and gorgeous. I need you this second." With that, he plunged inside her body and Sharon did scream in passion, and lifted her hips to meet him. He ran his hands down her arms, still in the robe. "Your body feels so good in all that lace."

Sharon felt she couldn't get close enough to Andy. He was inside her body, her arms were around him, her hands locked on to his shoulders, her legs were either wrapped around him, or twined with his. He was telling her he wanted her, and it was X-rated and erotic. She never thought she would be turned on by a man talking dirty. So much for that idea. She couldn't even come up with enough breath to do anything but gasp or moan, but that seemed to be enough for him.

Andy was touching her, and she could feel her climax on the horizon. He knew it too. He set an urgent rhythm and was telling her what he wanted. "Come for me, Sharon. Come hard. You want this. You're on fire. Come apart for me. Scream for me, babe. Just for me."

Sharon was almost sobbing by this time, she wanted Andy so much. Her climax seemed to start in the tips of her nipples and it traveled down her thighs and then crashed into her like a rogue breaker on the beach, making her scream, then leaving her breathless and exhausted. She hardly even knew when Andy found his release. It was just that all at once, they were two entwined bodies, breathing hard, trembling, holding on to each other for dear life.

Andy didn't ever remember a woman coming apart for him like Sharon did. Her body was so incredible and it made him hard just to think about touching her. He wanted to hold her the rest of his life.

As their breathing returned to normal, Andy stroked Sharon's skin, and held her against his body. They slept for a while.

* * *

Sharon woke up with a start and looked at the clock, then sighed with relief. Only 6:30. Rusty wouldn't be home for another two hours or so.

"We're still good," she heard Andy say.

"Yeah." She sighed into his arms again. "I can't believe we did that," she said.

"Why not? Not like we didn't both want it." Andy's tone was reasonable.

"It was just so … I don' t know. Immature, maybe?"

"That? I can think of a lot of words to describe it. Immature is not on the list," Andy said with a chuckle. "Now, let's see: down and dirty, hot, wild, intense, and so, _so_ good." He nuzzled in her hair.

"I hope I can walk."

"I hope _I_ can stand up," Andy replied. "But we'll manage." He turned her over to face him. "You texted me, after all."

She smiled. "I know I did, and I don't regret it. I guess I just never thought of myself as the type of woman who'd..." her voice trailed off.

"Have a hot quickie after work with her boyfriend?" Andy's grin was evil.

"Exactly. I just never had that kind of relationship with John. Of course, now I know why, but then, I didn't know any better. I thought that's how it was. And other men I dated, though dates were few and far between... If it ever got this far, it wasn't like this." She looked puzzled.

"You didn't know that underneath those power suits, there was a wild woman," Andy said, his voice a rough purr.

"I never really suspected it."

"I did. I knew it all along. You just needed the right man who appreciates you for the hot, sexy woman you are, that's all. And I do." He kissed her sweetly.

"I guess I bought into the ice princess persona. It was safe," she said, returning his kiss.

He held her closer. "Keep it. It comes in handy in this line of work. But I knew there was a fire underneath it. I'd sit there in the murder room while you were throwing down the rules, thinking that what you really needed was to get laid – frequently. And I wanted to be the one to do it."

"Oh really?" Sharon narrowed her eyes at him.

"Oh yeah. I knew there was a fantastic body underneath those designer threads. And I wanted it."

How could she be irritated? How could a woman be annoyed with a man because he wanted her? "You're impossible," she said.

"Yep. And hungry. I'll be glad to cook if you've got anything around here."

"Check the fridge. I'm sure I have something there. But get dressed first, just in case Rusty comes home early."

Andy kissed her soundly. "Take your own advice, hot stuff. But keep that robe handy. I like it."

"I'll remember that," she answered.

When Sharon went into the kitchen, Andy was wearing his jeans and T-shirt. He grinned at her. "Did you know there was a trail of my clothes from the hallway to your bedroom?"

"Oh, really?"

He nodded. "Good thing I checked. Shoes on the floor is one thing, but the rest…" He laughed.

She sat at the bar. "Well, it's strange. When my children were teens, of course they knew about the facts of life, and more than I realized, I'm sure, but Rusty's situation is so different. I felt as if I had some kind of innocence to protect with my kids, but there's just not any with Rusty. There's no innocence left. It's a little sad, really."

Andy stirred whatever he had in the saucepan on the stove. "It is sad. Ma would roll over in her grave at the thought of a kid his age being on the streets like that."

"I'd like to wring his mother's neck. Why in the world didn't she give him up for adoption when he was born? At least he would have had a shot at a normal life."

"Some questions have no answers. Changing the subject, what about your conversation with your ex? You looked plenty pissed when you got off the elevator."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "He spent the whole hour trying to justify what he did, basically. I don't think he's still drinking. He didn't order wine at lunch, but it doesn't change the fact that he's a selfish creep. I told him I was glad to sign the papers and to have a nice life and that I wasn't interested in any more contact with him."

"How did he take that information?" Andy asked.

"I don't know. I got up, left and didn't look back."

Andy grinned at her. "Good for you. He doesn't deserve to have you in his life." He went to her, leaned over the bar and kissed her. Sharon would have prolonged the kiss, until Andy broke it and said, "Gotta keep stirring. Risotto will burn in a heartbeat." He poured in some hot water from the tea kettle and kept the spoon in motion.

"I didn't realize I had any arborio rice to even make risotto."

"It was fairly far back in the cabinet, but I'm glad I found it. And I didn't figure on dried mushrooms for it, but found some of those, too. This and a salad OK with you?"

"Sounds great. Did your mom teach you to cook?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Ma and Grams, my dad's mom. They thought the boys should know their way around a kitchen, even if we never had to use the skills. It's come in handy, obviously. I decided years ago that I had to stop eating fast food, and I remembered I knew how to cook!" He looked up. "Thanks, Ma. Thanks Grams," he said to the sky.

She smiled. "I took cooking classes, believe it or not. We had a cook. Mother was actually a fairly decent cook, but she never did it much."

"I remember at Christmas, when Grams would start on the cookies and fruitcake. How she got anything done with the four of us hanging around, I'll never know. I guess she did it by putting us to work." He laughed. "We cut out cookies for days, it seemed. And when we were old enough to use a knife, she had us chopping nuts and the candied fruit for the fruitcake. God, that fruit was so sticky and it seemed like you couldn't wash it off completely. You got tired of licking your fingers."

"Eeew," Sharon grimaced. "The fruitcake must have been a petri dish of bacteria."

Andy laughed out loud. "Are you kidding? Grams put enough bourbon in that fruitcake to kill anything. And when you grow up like we did, four kids in a three bedroom unit in Jersey, you're kind of just in each other's faces all the time. We never thought anything about it." He checked the risotto. "About five more minutes. And I am living proof that eating raw cookie dough, or cake batter, or brownie batter, is not going to hurt you. We were all healthy as horses, and there is no computing how much raw cookie dough I consumed when I was a kid."

Sharon shuddered. "I'll fix the salad."

He snickered. "Go ahead."

As they ate, Sharon said, "So what was your idea for today? You never did tell me."

"Well, it's pretty adolescent…"

"Go on."

"I've got a friend who runs this little café close to the station. There's an apartment above it."

Her eyes widened. "So, we were just going to have lunch and then go upstairs?"

"I said it was adolescent. And who said anything about lunch?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed." Then she grinned at him. "But it does sound like fun. And I'll be honest with you. I'm starting to like the idea of having a man in my life."

Andy grinned in return. "Nice to know." He took their plates to the dishwasher and looked at his watch. "7:30. Maybe another hour to ourselves."

"Put your shirt on, just in case," Sharon answered.

"Sure. He shrugged into his shirt, but didn't button it. "Looks like I wore it in this way."

Sharon flopped down on to the sofa. "Seems like I'm just tired all the time these days," she said.

Andy sat beside her. "You've got more on your plate than you did six months ago. Here, put your feet in my lap."

She did and Andy started massaging her feet, his big hands effortlessly circling her entire foot.

Sharon squirmed under the massage. "Ow! No, don't stop. I didn't realize my feet were so stiff. Ow! No, it's the good kind of hurt. Yeah, get my insteps. Oooch! That hurt. No, keep on. You're not hurting me. I needed this."

Andy scowled at her. "It's those heels you wear. Damn things are ruining your feet." He extended his massage to her lower calves and she howled in pain. "See? Those muscles are tight enough to string a violin." He pushed her toes toward her knees, gently, and she screeched again. "God, Sharon. It's a wonder you can walk at all. I'm burning every pair of heels you've got."

"Oweee! No, you can't! I've got Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks!"

"Then we'll sell them online and give the money to charity. You're killing your feet and legs. Can you at least wear lower heels instead of those toothpicks?"

"They make my legs look good."

Andy looked at her in frank amazement. "Babe, you have gorgeous legs even when you're in bare feet. There was a story in the paper about high heels the other day. Even Sykes saw it! She was talking about it in the murder room. Heels are awful for your feet."

"Rub my feet, Andy, and shut up about my shoes," she said.

"O.K. But remember what I said."

"I'll remember!"

Eventually, Andy had rubbed most of the tension out of Sharon's feet, and now he was just gently massaging them. Sharon was nearly asleep. She needed to get a foot massage at the spa, she thought. Maybe the hot stone treatment, too.

Rusty came into the apartment fairly quietly. He had seen Andy's car in the parking lot, and he didn't know what might be going on. However, all he saw was Sharon dozing on the sofa, her feet in Andy's lap, as he looked through a Time magazine.

"Hiya Rusty," he said.

"Hey. What's up?"

Andy shook his head. "Nada. You're lookin' at it."

Rusty nodded. "Cool. You guys get takeout for dinner?"

"Nope. I cooked, if you can believe it."

"For real? O.K. Is Sharon all right?"

"She's fine. Why?" Andy replied.

"She's asleep."

Andy shrugged. "She has a lot to do these days."

"Guess so."

Sharon stirred. "Hello, Rusty. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, I did. Thanks for letting me go."

"You're welcome."

Andy watched Rusty go down the hall and look quickly into Sharon's bedroom. He laughed silently. Nosy little rat. But this issue needed to be addressed. He got up and went to Rusty's room. "Got a minute?"

"Yeah."

Andy closed the door behind him. "I saw you peek into Sharon's bedroom."

"So?"

Andy chuckled. "You don't have to be a homicide detective to know what was going through your mind. You were wondering about me and Sharon."

"Look, Andy. She's already talked to me about it. I know, it's between the two of you," Rusty said with a frown.

"Cool. But we are adults. And you're not some innocent little kid, and we realize this. But we'll respect you, too, and keep our private stuff private."

"Can I ask you something? You know, man to man?"

Andy grinned. "Shoot."

"Well, when a guy is your age, I mean, you know, well, there's all the ads for Cialis and Viagra and stuff. Is it different?"

Andy sat on the edge of Rusty's bed. "That's actually a good question. It's different in that there's not that – that – _rush_ to get a girl in bed all the time. Not that there's not desire and passion, and lust even, but it's maybe a slower burn, if that makes any sense. I mean, when I was 16, I was a huntin' pecker all the time." Rusty laughed at this. "No joke. Anything with a pulse. But when you get older, it's easier to control, for sure. And it's easier to take your time and enjoy what's going on. The actual sex is as good as it ever was, but it's not usually as frantic. In a lot of ways, it's better."

"So, it's true that you can't go as often as you do when you're my age."

Andy shook his head. "It's true and that's not a bad thing. I'd throw my back out!" He laughed. "So, when you have a more limited quantity, then quality is everything."

Rusty looked keenly at Andy. "Do you think it's kind of weird that we're having this conversation?"

Andy thought about it. "Not really. At some point, we all need somebody we can take these kinds of questions to. I'm kind of flattered you trust me enough to ask me. And sometimes, it's easier to ask someone outside the family than it is inside the family. Especially for sex questions."

"I don't know. I didn't think you'd laugh at me for asking."

"No way. Like I said, it's a good question! And how're you gonna know if you don't ask? Even the internet doesn't know everything, and if it does give you an answer, you can't always believe it, or know how reliable it is."

"That's true. I was just wondering. Right now, I mean, I'm not really interested in anything. It may be a while before I am. Is that weird?"

Andy shook his head. "No. It's not weird. I'd say it's normal, in fact. Sharon told me you were going to get counseling. Have you, yet?"

"Couple of times. I don't really want to talk about it, though. I just want to forget it all happened."

"I can totally understand that. But believe it or not, talking helps. Learned that in AA. Keeping it all inside just makes it worse."

Rusty nodded slowly. "Yeah. O.K. Thanks, Andy."

"You're welcome." He left Rusty's room and saw an anxious Sharon on the sofa.

"What was going on in there?" she asked.

"Guy stuff. You wouldn't understand," he answered a twinkle in his eyes.

"I see. You can tell me later. I hate to throw you out, I really do, but…"

He kissed her forehead. "I know. Have to keep on a schedule with a kid in the house. But, you can still kiss me goodnight." He drew her to him for a sweet kiss. He nuzzled in her hair. "When can I start spending the night?" he said impishly.

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" she asked, although she wanted him to stay with her all night, every night.

"I don't think so," he answered. "But we'll talk about that, too." He kissed her again and they got up and walked to the door.

Once more, Andy kissed Sharon, this time, running his hands down her body and making her shiver. "Good night, babe. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Andy."

As Andy drove home, he hoped Rusty got many more invitations to eat dinner with his friends.


	11. Chapter 11: Check to the Queen?

**A/N:** Yes! At last, an update. Sorry for the delay. And there are more chapters to come, so don't think the ending of this one means it's the end of the story. Nope. Anyway, I really hope you're all still in it with me on this one. Your reward? Goodness! Read on! Oh, and don't forget the review thing, either. Very important! Thanks also to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favorited this! Enjoy!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 11: Check to the Queen?**

Sharon woke in the night. She'd heard something. She listened. It sounded like moans or muttering. She got up and opened her door. There it was again, and it was coming from Rusty's room. Sharon went to his door and listened. She could hear him moving around and it sounded like he was dreaming. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but he was obviously having a nightmare. She opened his door a crack and peeked in. He was thrashing on the bed, muttering and groaning. Finally, he yelled out loud and she rushed to him.

She shook him gently. "Wake up, Rusty. Wake up. It's just a bad dream. Wake up." He wouldn't wake, but kept babbling and thrashing, and finally, she spotted the water bottle on his desk. She poured a little into her palm and flicked his face with the water. Finally, he came awake, throwing punches, and even though she dodged, he connected with her temple. It hurt, but Sharon put her hands on his shoulders. "Rusty! It's all right! It was just a dream! Are you O.K.?"

He looked around, still a little disoriented. "Where am I?"

"You're home, Rusty. Here. Are you all right?" She reached to turn on his lamp.

When the light came on, Rusty finally seemed to come around. "Sharon?" he said.

"Yes. I'm right here. You were having a nightmare."

He nodded. "Yeah. I sure as hell was."

"But you're fine now. It's all over." Sharon's voice was soothing, calming. She patted his shoulder. "Do you want to tell me what it was?"

"Bad memories. That's all."

"I understand." She sat quietly for a moment. "Have you been having these nightmares for a while?"

"On and off." He was always so guarded.

"Well, you might want to mention it to your counselor. He might have some ideas on getting them to stop." She wasn't going to force it.

"Maybe. I think I can go back to sleep now."

Sharon nodded. "All right. If you need me, let me know."

"O.K." He paused. "Th-thanks, Sharon. Thanks for coming in here."

She smiled. "You're welcome, Rusty." She patted his shoulder again, and before she could get up, Rusty had thrown his arms around her in a hug. She held him very gently, and the moment she felt his body stiffen, she let go. "Good night," she said. She stood and ruffled his hair.

"'Night."

Sharon turned out the lamp and went back to bed. She lay awake for some little while, thinking. Somehow, she felt she had won a major battle.

* * *

When Sharon looked in the mirror the next morning, she _looked_ like she had been in a major battle, at least. The side of her face where Rusty had hit her looked like she had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. Her eyes widened. Of course, she was so fair-skinned that any bruise looked awful, and she had always bruised easily anyway, so it was a double whammy. She sighed. There wasn't enough foundation in the world to cover this. Then, she had a thought. A couple of years before, the department had done some public service ads, and even though she hadn't been featured, the crew had done some filming in her department, so she had to have makeup on. The makeup artist had to mix the color for her, and just gave her the small container of base. Sharon used it occasionally, when she needed to hide dark circles from a long night on a case. There might be enough, if she used a brush and was careful.

She found the makeup and a brush and was painstakingly applying the base when Rusty saw her standing in front of the mirror. She was dressed, of course, but hadn't closed the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Just putting on some makeup," she answered.

"You don't usually put it on like that," he said.

"It's a woman's prerogative to do her makeup any way she wants to do it," Sharon said lightly.

Rusty looked closer. "Your face is bruised. How did that happen? You walk into a wall or something?"

"It's fine." She smiled at him and went back to the mirror.

"No, it's not. What happened, Sharon?"

She sighed. Persistent little cuss. "It happened last night. You were thrashing around and when you woke up, you caught me on the side of the face. No big deal." It really wasn't a big deal, it was an accident, and Sharon was trying to make as light of it as she could.

"_I_ did that? Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, Sharon! I didn't mean to!" Rusty was clearly upset.

She turned to him. "Of course you didn't mean to! You didn't know what you were doing. You were having a terrible nightmare. It's my fault. I should have stayed out of arm's reach until you were completely awake. It's fine, Rusty, really. I'm going to tell everyone that Provenza and I finally had it out in the murder room." She grinned mischievously at him.

In spite of his dismay, Rusty couldn't help laughing at that. "You should. And somebody would probably believe you."

She chuckled. "Maybe. But I'm just fine, so please don't be upset about it."

"I'll try, but I can't believe I did that."

"You were asleep. You didn't know what you were doing. Although, I think I understand now how you put those kids in the infirmary. You can throw a punch!"

"I'm so sorry, Sharon. Really!"

Sharon went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "I said I'm fine. And I am. I'm so fair-skinned that if I just bump myself, it looks terrible. Believe me, this looks much worse than it actually is."

"The makeup really helps to hide it, though," he said.

She smiled. "It should. It's actual television makeup. It's supposed to hide everything."

Sharon was in her office when her door opened and a coffee cup was placed on her desk.

"Morning, Captain," came Andy's voice, caressing.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Sharon answered. She looked up and smiled at him. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said, then peered at her face. Of course, Andy's sharp eyes would pick out the bruising, however faint. He pointed at the bruise. "There had better be a damn good explanation for that, and it had better not involve that little punk!" His voice was cold.

"Settle down, Andy. It was completely an accident," Sharon said, her voice soothing. "Rusty was having a nightmare, well I'd call it a night terror, really, considering how difficult it was to wake him up. As he was waking up, he was thrashing around and caught me on my temple. He had no idea he'd done it until this morning, and he felt just awful about it."

Andy looked a little doubtful. "Really?"

"Really. So, while I appreciate your concern, it's truly nothing. Bruises show up on me if I just bump into the corner of my desk. The same thing happened when my son was about 10 and had a night terror. He caught me right on the cheekbone and I looked like someone had beaten the stuffing out of me the next morning. The whole side of my face was bruised and swollen. Imagine trying to explain how a 10-year-old slugged you." Thankfully, Sharon could see Andy's posture relax. She couldn't think about what he would do to the boy if he thought Rusty had hit her.

"You sure you're O.K."

"I'm fine, Andy. You ought to see my right hip. I have little purple blips there all the time."

His eyes lit up with devilment. "Can I kiss them and make them better?"

Sharon closed her eyes in exasperation. "You have such a gutter mind."

Andy put his hands on her desk and leaned to her. "And you love it, sweet thing," he growled.

Heat flooded her. "Get out," she retorted.

He grinned in wicked delight and said, "Anything you say, Captain," and followed it up with a wink.

The door closed behind him and Sharon shook her head. How could she want to strangle him and tear his clothes off at the same time? Mostly tear his clothes off though, honestly. The way he kissed should be illegal.

The early morning was quiet. Sharon caught up on some long-neglected paperwork and assumed the rest of the squad must be doing the same, since they all looked busy at their computers. Well, except for Provenza. He was doing a crossword puzzle.

* * *

She had just sent a group of evidence logs to the records department when Provenza opened her door. "We've got a body," he said. Sharon sighed and picked up her purse.

As Raydor, Flynn and Provenza rolled through the gates of the movie studio, they could see people standing outside on the sidewalk, holding flowers and signs.

"News travels fast," Raydor said.

"It's the information age, Captain," Flynn answered.

The squad gathered outside the crime scene perimeter and Sykes looked over. "I can't believe this. Who would kill Justin Gray? I always heard he was a pretty nice guy!"

Flynn shrugged. "You never know with these types. I hate working these murders, though. I hope Frank Davis is here. He's a lieutenant with Hollywood Division and he knows how to deal with these people." He looked at the crowd. "There he is," he said, gesturing to a tall man, immaculately dressed. The man turned and saw Flynn and waved. He jogged over.

"Hey Flynn. Long time," he said, extending his hand.

"Too long. Frank, this is our division head, Captain Sharon Raydor. You know Provenza and Tao, and this is Detective Julio Sanchez and Detective Amy Sykes. This is Lieutenant Frank Davis, Hollywood Division."

"Nice to meet all of you. I guess you figured out that because this is a very high-profile case, you guys are here by special request from the Pope."

"I thought so," Raydor said. "Can you please catch us up, Lieutenant?"

"Sure, Captain. Our deceased is Justin Gray, white male, 31. Naturally, his publicist says he's 27. Anyway, he's an A-lister. He's been in most of the major movies to come out in the past five years, and presented at the Oscars last year. In fact, his name was being thrown around for Best Actor this year for his role in 'Cornered.' He was found in his trailer. He was late for his call and a production assistant went looking for him. Two gunshot wounds to the chest. Director said they put the whole lot on lockdown, but there are a lot of places to hide around here."

Raydor nodded. "Yes, there are." She looked around. They were in a fairly enclosed spot, but she knew paparazzi were as close as they could get. "First, we've got to get rid of the photographers. I know they're out there." She thought a moment, then smiled. "Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza. Because we are in lockdown, I'm going to want a two-block perimeter around this lot. Please notify Traffic so they can make this happen, and when the perimeter is set up, I want you two to personally escort every photographer and reporter who doesn't have studio ID outside the perimeter. If they don't want to leave, arrest them and confiscate their equipment. I doubt we'll have too much trouble with the actual reporters and camera people. It's our rugged individualist friends the paparazzi who concern me."

Flynn chuckled. "This is gonna be fun. C'mon, Provenza. Get on the horn to Traffic and let's start rounding up dirtbags."

Sykes watched them leave. "Captain, you certainly picked the right malcontents for that assignment."

Raydor nodded. "Yes, I believe I did," she smirked.

As Raydor had predicted, the television and newspaper reporters and their camera people obediently cleared the perimeter and set up shop outside the scene. Flynn and Provenza marshaled several uniformed officers to go hunting for paparazzi, and they had a successful haul. By the time the officers had cleared the perimeter to the lieutenants' satisfaction, they had rounded up 24 photographers.

Provenza addressed the crowd. "All right, people. We have a closed perimeter around this lot. We're looking for a murder suspect, and we don't need you people poking camera lenses everywhere. This is a public safety and security issue, so you'll have to exercise your First Amendment rights outside the line. You have this one opportunity to leave quietly, or face arrest. Any of you who gives me one second's worth of trouble is going to be arrested for failure to comply with an officer's request, breaching a police perimeter and hindering a murder investigation. You'll spend the night in jail and your equipment will be confiscated, so you won't have a chance to send any images to anyone until in the morning when they will be useless. So play nice, or cool your heels in a cell tonight."

There was a lot of angry muttering, but the photographers filed out beside the barrier. None resisted and as they walked back to the lot, Provenza looked at Flynn. "You're disappointed we didn't get to arrest any of them aren't you?"

Flynn looked a little shamefaced, but then grinned. "Yeah, kind of. Aren't you?"

He snickered. "A little, yes. Well, let's see what happened to this guy."

Back at the crime scene, Raydor was looking over the trailer carefully. "Either his door wasn't locked, or he knew the attacker. There's no sign of the door being forced," she said.

"And the powder burns indicate close range, which supports the theory that Gray knew his killer," Tao added.

"I don't suppose we'll be fortunate enough to actually find the weapon where the killer ditched it," Raydor mused.

Sanchez turned to her. "We probably need to get a warrant for every handgun on this lot," he said.

"Excellent idea, Detective Sanchez. On a studio lot, a handgun can easily hide in plain sight."

Flynn and Provenza came into the trailer. "All the vultures rounded up and kicked out," Flynn said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She looked around. "What next?"

"Where am I going to find another leading man?" A man had appeared in the doorway. "George Coolidge. I'm the director. I've got three producers breathing down my neck."

Raydor turned to the man. "Captain Sharon Raydor, Major Crimes. Mr. Coolidge, I am very sorry for your loss, but you are contaminating my crime scene. I would be happy to speak with you downtown. Lieutenant Tao is on his way back now, and will be glad to give you a lift. I'll be along as quickly as I can."

"Just follow me, sir," Tao said and led the man out of the trailer.

No other interruptions followed until the squad stepped out of the trailer. A man in a designer suit was pacing. Two burly bodyguards hovered in the background. When Raydor exited the structure, the man made a beeline for her. "Excuse me!" he said.

"Yes?" Raydor looked at the man.

He looked back at her, as if he expected her to know him. He sighed heavily. "Kevin Dunbar. I'm the studio president. When are you people planning on lifting the lockdown?"

"Captain Sharon Raydor, Major Crimes," she returned. "And I really can't say. It may be a day or two. We have quite a bit of evidence to sift through, starting with any security footage you have from the cameras in this area."

"Being shut down costs money, Captain!"

Raydor looked him up and down, finally turning the full Raydor Glare on him. "Mr. Dunbar, this is a murder investigation. One of your leading actors was shot to death today – on your lot. When we've finished our investigation, we'll reopen the lot. In the meantime, I suggest you tell your people to take a couple of days off."

"Listen here, lady," and Dunbar took a menacing step toward the Captain. Flynn and Sanchez stepped forward, and Dunbar's bodyguards were immediately in front of him and far too close to Raydor, who took an involuntary step back.

Flynn pulled aside his coat, so his gun and badge were visible. "Listen here, _Dunbar._ Assault on a police officer is a felony. And you're already treading a thin line of hindering a murder investigation. I suggest you tell your hired goons to step away from my Captain. Unlike them, I have a badge that says I can use this weapon. And I won't hesitate. Call off your dogs, Dunbar, or all three of you are leaving this lot in cuffs."

"Or a bodybag," Sanchez added.

Raydor felt a surge of affection for these two men and their immediate defense. There were times when it was an advantage to have two hotheads like Flynn and Sanchez on the squad. Nothing was going to get past them, and she was grateful.

"All right, gentlemen," she said, once Dunbar's bodyguards had backed off. "This investigation will be a much faster, smoother process if I have your complete cooperation. Please bear in mind that I can and will get as many warrants as necessary to complete my investigation. Your cooperation, Mr. Dunbar, will make a great deal of that unnecessary."

"Fine. Do whatever you need to do. But if you don't get this place reopened in a _short _amount of time, I am suing the LAPD for loss of income!"

Raydor gave him a genuine smile. "I'll keep that in mind." She turned to go, Flynn and Sanchez flanking her. "Where's Lieutenant Provenza?" she asked.

"He went back downtown with Lieutenant Tao," Sykes answered.

"We'll meet you back there, then," Raydor said, and walked toward Flynn's car. Sykes wondered how the Captain worked that out.

On the drive back, Andy glanced over at Sharon. "How's your face?" he asked.

"Sore, but it's all right. I'll put some ice on it tonight." She crossed her legs and leaned back in the seat. "You got one of the new vehicles. It's nice."

"Yeah. My old one was just about on its last wheels." He stopped at a light. Fortunately, there were several cars ahead of them. It was nearly three and school traffic was picking up. Andy reached over and caressed Sharon's knee, his pinkie finger sneaking underneath the hem of her skirt. "I like that suit, Sharon. And I really like that top. Outlines all your best assets."

Sharon's pulse started the cha-cha it always did when Andy touched her. "You're behaving very inappropriately, Lieutenant," she teased.

"Yep. Don't you wish we had time to get _really_ inappropriate?" he said with a leer.

"Since you asked, then yes," she answered.

He laughed. The light changed and he removed his hand, but Sharon's skin was tingling. "One of these days, I'm gonna get you alone in your office, I'm going to close the blinds and I'm gonna take you right there on that futon."

"Andy!" Sharon exclaimed, scandalized, although heat flooded her body at the very idea.

"What?" he laughed. "Sounds inappropriate to me."

"You're awful."

Andy just nodded and grinned at her.

When they got to the parking deck, Andy parked close to the elevators and stairwell. There was an alcove on the other side of the stairwell and he pulled her into it. "Come here," he whispered in her ear and he gave her a searing kiss, smoothing his hands over her hips and rear, and locking his thighs to hers.

Sharon revised her opinion. Andy's kisses weren't merely illegal. They were downright felonious. Still, she put one arm around him, under his jacket, and the other hand she slipped under his shirt collar so she could feel just a little of his skin. She massaged the nape of his neck and felt him turn them so she was against the wall. He kissed her neck and down to her collarbone, where the neckline of her top opened.

"Oh, God, Sharon. I want you so damn bad," he rasped. "I am so hard for you." He pulled her closer, against his groin. She could feel his hardness next to her thigh.

"I want you too, Andy," she sighed. "But we can't. Not right here, of all places."

"Yeah, I know. But if I didn't kiss you, I was gonna go nuts. But Sharon," he said, nuzzling her neck, "Soon. Please, soon. Somewhere. Anywhere. My place. Your place. I don't care."

The touch of his lips on her skin was making her fuzzy-headed. "We'll work something out, I promise." She leaned back from him and Andy appreciated the sight of her eyes soft and luminous, her lips parted and slightly swollen from his kisses, her hair mussed. "What was that you said to Rusty about people our age not _rushing_ into bed?" She smiled a siren's smile.

"So sue me."

"I have to say, though, that I don't think I've ever had such a _physical _need for a man like I have for you, Andy. We strike sparks off each other. I suppose we always have."

He grinned. "Of one kind or another. Go fix your hair, Captain. You've got the look of a woman who has been very, very busy." He raised his eyebrows and backed up.

"Oh, you. I'll meet you upstairs."

"O.K." He kissed her briefly, but sweetly once more and disappeared into the elevator. Sharon took the stairs up one flight and went to the ladies room on the third floor to brush her hair and reapply her lipstick. All that interlude had done was stoke a fire that was already smoldering. He could have hiked her skirt up, ripped her panties off, and she wouldn't have cared. All she could think about was the way his body felt against hers – that strength and warmth, about the scent of his cologne on his skin, about how he felt inside her body... she shook herself. If she didn't get herself together, she was going to finally have to buy batteries for that vibrator. She won it as a gag gift at some birthday party years ago, but had never even taken it out of the package. Might be a good time to start using it, she thought, or she might just drag Andy into her office in the middle of the day, close the blinds, lock the doors and start ripping off his clothes. That was certainly a tempting thought, she mused, slipping into another sexy daydream. The door opened and brought her out of her reverie. She washed her hands and placed her hairbrush back into her purse. She spoke pleasantly to the woman who had come into the bathroom and walked to the elevator. On the trip up, she chastised herself for wanting Andy so much when there was a murder to solve.

* * *

In the murder room, she and Tao went to talk to George Coolidge. "Mr. Coolidge, walk me through the day."

The director shrugged. "Justin had an 11 a.m. call. He usually gets to the lot long before, you know, so he can get into makeup and read over his lines. He's a professional. Never late on set, never unprepared. He takes – took – it seriously."

Tao nodded. "And there would be security cameras at the gate recording when he came in?"

"Yeah. Since 9-11, there's only been one way in and one way out of that studio. It's guarded 24/7. But it was 11:30 or so and no Justin. I sent him a text and didn't get an answer, so I sent one of the production assistants to his trailer. Thought he might have fallen asleep or something. Anyway, she was gone about three minutes, and then came running back, screaming. I ran in and saw the body and called you guys."

"I see," Raydor said. "So his trailer was far enough away from where you were filming that you wouldn't have heard a gunshot?"

"Well, it's a good three or four minute walk. I don't know. If the door was shut, maybe."

"Or the shooter used a silencer," Tao mused.

The director shook his head. "I can't believe anyone would do this! Everybody liked Justin. If he had any enemies, I'm not aware of it. Of course, everybody knows Hollywood is a cesspool and a snake pit, but Justin seemed to get along with just about everyone. This is my third picture with him, and he's like, you know, Tom Hanks or someone. It's not like working with some of these egos you have to deal with. Everybody just likes him."

Raydor tapped her pen on her legal pad for a moment. "Mr. Coolidge, we are looking for the handgun used in the murder. Was there a gunfight or gunshot scene in your picture, or on the shooting schedule for today?"

"No, this was a romantic comedy. Nothing like that in this movie. But it's not like we were the only ones shooting. There may have been a gunfight on another set."

"What about Mr. Gray's leading lady? Was there a fight between them, perhaps?" Sharon asked.

"Not that I'm aware of. We were only in the third day of shooting. Elina was only on set the day we started. She didn't have calls the past couple of days. We were getting Justin's solo scenes in."

"And you can't think of anyone who might have wanted Mr. Gray dead?" Raydor asked.

"No. As I said, everyone liked him."

"All right, Mr. Coolidge. We appreciate your willingness to answer our questions. Here's my card. If you think of anything – _anything_ that might help this investigation, please call."

"I will, Captain." He walked out.

Tao sat back in the chair. "He was really shaken up."

"Indeed he was." Raydor stood and walked with Tao into the murder room. "All right. I know we don't have a lot to go on right now, so let's try to get more information. Detective Sykes, please run financials for our victim and his co-star, Elina, what is her name?"

"Petrova," Sykes answered.

"Yes. Thank you. Detective Sanchez, get to work on the victim's cell phone. Mike, did we get a laptop, tablet, anything?"

"Tablet and I'm waiting for it to come back from SID after they dust it for prints."

"Well, you know where to take it from there. Andy, check out the people working on the set today. We'll start with just this set and expand our search if we have to. But start with Kevin Dunbar. I don't like that man. Then, get all the cast and crew, even the drivers and caterers. Lieutenant Provenza can help you with that. I'm going to go have a look at those security tapes from the front gate. Oh, and Mike, can you get a map of that lot? It might be helpful."

"Will do, Captain."

"Thank you. And, Andy? Run financials on Mr. Dunbar, also. Oh, who was the detective who was such a genius at forensic accounting – Irene Daniels? Well, I'm going to give her a call and see if she can help dissect the studio's finances. There might be some interesting information we can turn up."

It was about 6:30 when Chief Taylor appeared in the murder room. "Where are we on the Justin Gray murder?" he asked.

"Plugging away, Chief," Provenza answered. "Why?"

"Chief Pope wants an update," Taylor replied.

"Tell His Holiness that we're doing the best we can," Provenza grumbled. "And while you're at it, remind him that we've been working this murder for half a day, with precious little physical evidence and so far, no motive."

"What about the gun?" Taylor asked.

"What gun?" Flynn answered. "We were lucky enough to get one bullet that we can match, assuming we ever find the gun. Chief, this is a movie lot and guns are everywhere. We've got a warrant for all the handguns on the set, but getting them all may take some time."

"All right. Well, the other information Chief Pope asked me to convey is that it's time to close up shop for the night. Overtime costs money," Taylor said.

"Doesn't everything?" Provenza cracked.

"And the LAPD doesn't have it to spend," Taylor answered.

"Fine with me," Flynn said. "I'm hungry and I'm ready to get out of this place."

"Me too," Provenza agreed.

"Definitely," Sykes said, and grabbed her purse.

The squad filed out of the murder room, and Andy ducked into a corner so he could join Sharon when she walked out. Sykes was taking a phone call, so she didn't see Andy disappear.

When Sharon walked by, Andy fell into step beside her. "Dinner?" he asked.

"Yes. Please. I'm starved."

They ended up at one of the little Italian places that dotted Los Angeles and as they ate, they first discussed the murder.

"So who do you like for this one?" Andy asked.

Sharon shook her head. "I don't really know. I'm not sure we've run across the actual suspect. Although, that Kevin Dunbar..." her voice trailed off.

"He's a prick. And a prick with money, which is worse. I thought Julio and I were gonna have to take his goons out. I would have if they had laid a finger on you."

She smiled. "Thank you for defending my honor, Andy."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Hell, I'd have done it for anybody, but I guess his hired guns don't know that they can't assault a police officer in the performance of their job. Never occurred to them, I guess."

"But I don't think Dunbar is involved."

Andy shrugged. "Nah, me either. No money in offing him. Killing the golden goose, y'know?"

"Exactly. So who would benefit financially from his death? Or, who would want him dead badly enough to actually kill him?"

"Those are the $64,000 dollar questions. And we don't have answers yet. But they'll come."

Sharon chuckled. "You sound awfully sure of that."

"Twenty years in homicide. It's really tough for people to keep a murder to themselves. Eventually, they have to tell someone, or they get caught getting rid of evidence. Either way, we almost always find out. It may take longer than the famous 48 hours, but we don't miss too many." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I have to say, your confidence makes me feel better."

He cocked his head. "After all those years in IA, you're still getting accustomed to how homicides work. In IA you don't deal with human nature like we do. Of course, we almost always see the worst parts of it, so it rarely fails to surprise us. Which is kind of sad, when you think about it. But that's the way it goes."

"Do all homicide detectives turn into philosophers?" Sharon asked.

"Yeah. Or the guys walking around with signs that say, 'The end is near.' Or, we're like Tim Martin, you remember – the guy who worked Grady Joe's case – and we open up a surf shop and disconnect from the grid." His grin was rueful.

She smiled. "I guess so. Have you ever thought about what you'd like to do when you retire?"

"I dunno. I have thought about it, but honest to God, I just can't imagine not being a cop. Nothing else computes. I guess I'll figure out something when the time comes, but I don't know what that something is. Not really. Guess I'll go to a lot of Dodgers games."

"I can think of worse ways to spend your retirement."

"What about you?"

She sighed. "I'd love to sell everything and go to Tahiti. Or Bora Bora. Somewhere tropical and quiet."

Andy nodded. "Doesn't sound half bad. I think I could go for that, myself. For a while, anyway." He reached to take her hand as she sat next to him in the booth. He brought it to his lips. "I love spending time with you, Sharon."

"I like it too. Much more than I thought I would, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

He laughed. "I can understand." He checked his watch. "It's just a little after eight. Think Rusty can handle things by himself until ten-thirty or eleven?"

She looked at him archly. "What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, that we stop by my place before you go home. You know. Watch a movie or something." His eyes were twinkling.

Sharon couldn't help it. When she looked into Andy's dark eyes, he could talk her into nearly anything – especially when it involved a couple of hours in his arms. She knew she should go home, see about Rusty, make sure he was doing his homework …

Andy read her hesitation correctly. "Sharon, if you need to be home, I understand."

Sharon loved Andy for realizing she had conflicting loyalties. Maybe she loved him, anyway. _What?_ she said to herself. But rolling the idea around in her head, she found it didn't scare her. "I'll call him and see what's going on, and then I can make a more informed decision," she said.

He smiled. "Sure. You do what you need to do."

Sharon returned his smile and took her phone out. She called Rusty. "Hi there. Everything all right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Have you eaten?"

"You left a twenty for me so Derek and I could order pizza, remember? Since his mom invited me to dinner?"

Sharon nodded. "I do remember. I'm glad you've eaten. Is he still there?"

"Yeah, we're working on this cool chess opening gambit I read about online." He sounded excited.

"Sounds great. You'll have to explain it to me, sometime. How late is Derek planning on staying?"

"His mom's coming at ten to get him."

"All right. That's good. I'll be late coming in. Andy and I are going out, if you don't mind."

"Me? Why should I mind? You're the one dating him!" There was laughter in Rusty's voice, which pleased Sharon.

"Well, I didn't want you to feel like I was ditching you."

"Everybody needs to go out once in a while – even you," he answered.

This time, Sharon laughed. "Why, thank you. I appreciate that. In that case, I'll be home by ten-thirty or eleven."

"Have fun. But I guess that's a foregone conclusion," he cracked.

"Smart aleck," she answered. "See you later." She clicked off the call. "He's fine with it."

"Good to know. Meet you at my place?"

She nodded. Andy smiled, got up, and gave her a hand out of the booth. He paid the bill and Sharon followed him to his place in her car.

* * *

As he opened the door, he said, "This isn't plush like your apartment."

"That's all right, Andy. You know I don't mind at all."

"Well, there's not any expensive art on the walls and you can't see half of LA from here. I'm just a working class dog, and that's all I've ever been."

"Of all people, I know that money is not everything. There are so many things that bring happiness, but money is often not on the list."

Andy grinned at her and motioned her inside. "Welcome to the man cave," he said with a snicker, and turned on the overhead light.

Sharon hadn't noticed much about his place when she and Provenza were there, and she looked around. Everything was utilitarian and bachelor beige. She wasn't surprised. It was comfortably cluttered, with magazines on the coffee table, mail on the kitchen counter and one of his jackets on the back of a chair. Of course, she had a cleaning lady, so that made the difference.

Andy kicked his shoes off by the sofa and took his jacket and vest off. They landed on a chair. He started unbuttoning his shirt and that went on the same chair. Then, he tugged his T-shirt out of his waistband and flopped on to the sofa. "Swear to God, I'm gonna have to get some of those Medicare shoes like Provenza wears. My feet are killing me." He looked up at Sharon, who was still standing, purse in hand. "Let your hair down, Captain. Kick off your shoes and sit down. Get comfortable. You're makin' me nervous, just standing there."

She grinned. "I'm sorry, Andy." She put her purse on a side table and took off her blazer and left it on the same chair with his clothes. She sat on the sofa and eased off her pumps. She sighed. "That _is_ better."

Andy put his hand on her knee, then said, "Hang on. I'll be right back." He was gone a couple of minutes, and came back, holding something. He had replaced his suit trousers with sweatshorts and carried another T-shirt and a pair of shorts, which he tossed to her. "Put that on. I'll even unzip your dress for you." His grin was wolfish.

"I'll bet you will," she said, but turned her back to him. Andy drew the zipper down, kissing the back of her neck as he did, and giving her goosepimples. She shimmied out of her dress, as he watched appreciatively.

"A garter belt and stockings. God, that is so sexy, Sharon," he said. Without giving her time to reply, he covered her mouth with his, and put his arms around her, one hand tangling in her luxuriant hair.

Andy kept surprising her with his strength, Sharon thought, but with her, it was such a tender strength. He kissed her as though his very life depended on it, then trailed his mouth down her neck, to her collarbones, into her cleavage and back up.

Sharon was already shell-shocked, but when his tongue dipped down between her breasts, she drew a shuddering breath. "I need you, Andy."

"Good," he growled into her ear. He picked her up and kissed her again, his tongue a welcome invasion into her mouth. They made it to the bedroom, where he sat her on the bed. He pulled his shirt off and Sharon once again looked appreciatively at his body. So what if his chest hair was salt and pepper, too? He still looked incredible. She knew he went to the gym and it obviously paid off. She reached behind her to unfasten her bra and Andy's eyes lit up. "How do you women do that?" he asked.

"Practice," she answered with a grin.

"Must be. I've never figured out how it works. But I love to watch you do it."

"Lecher."

He nodded. "Oh, yeah. Especially when the woman looks like you."

"You're good for my ego, Andy."

"Nice to know I'm good for something around here," he replied, then actually knelt by the bed and slipped his hand under her thigh and unclipped the garter from her stocking. Then he unfastened the garter on top and did the same for her other stocking. He slid the stockings off, making sure he caressed the skin on her legs down to her ankles. Heat followed his hands down the length of her body. He then reached up to unfasten the hooks on the black lacy garter belt and pulled it away from her waist. Her panties were plain black cotton, but Andy grinned at her. "Take them off for me," he said.

Sharon looked at him a little strangely, but stood and slid her panties down her hips, then sat back down on the bed. Andy's eyes roamed her body, firing her blood, and, for some reason, making her want to cover herself with her hands.

"Don't be shy about your body, Sharon. It's beautiful," he said, running his hands up her arms, then down her back. He leaned in to place tiny kisses and nips on the skin of her neck. Sharon shuddered with the feeling, and the goosepimples popped out all over her.

"Do you like it when I do that?" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded. It was all she could do. She slipped her arms around Andy and pressed herself to his body, her mouth to his. Her fingers curled into his thick hair, and she sighed as she ran one hand down his back. She could feel the planes and hollows down his spine and raked his skin lightly with her nails. He shuddered in turn, and she could feel the goosebumps on his skin. "Like that?" she murmured.

"Mmmm-yeah," he said. "I love having my back scratched."

Sharon obligingly dropped both hands down his back and scratched his skin gently, feeling him wriggle in her embrace. She got down to his shorts and eased them down from his hips. He helped her and sat on the bed, and pulled her on to his lap so her legs were on either side of his, and her breasts right in range of his hands and mouth. He took her breasts in his hands, flicking the nipples gently with his thumbs, and Sharon arched her back in pleasure, then cried out when he mouthed the sensitive tips, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer to her skin.

Andy reached down to touch her center, and finding her hot moisture, teased her folds and her button with his thumb, so gently, with skill and the certain knowledge that she wanted him. He shifted on the bed and said, "Lift your hips, Sharon." She understood what he wanted and she did so, then eased herself down on to him, pressing his heat inside her own. Once he was fully seated inside her, he put his arms around her and drew her mouth down to his, kissing her sweetly, nibbling her bottom lip, running the tip of his tongue around the inside of her upper lip. He started a gentle rocking motion that was an exquisite torment for both of them. It wasn't enough to bring either of them to climax, but it was delicious and soon, Sharon was whimpering with the sweet agony of Andy inside her, but only moving a little. He must have a hammerlock on his control, she thought, to last this long. But it was so marvelous, like eating a butterscotch sundae just a little at a time, because it was so rich and sweet.

Andy was all but reciting baseball stats to keep himself under control. Sharon's heat was making him crazy, and feeling the satin skin of her back under his hands, her soft, ample breasts against his chest, the fragrance of her hair, her soft cries of passion – it was all enough to send him over the edge, but he kept it together, and let her determine their pace.

Finally, Sharon shifted her weight, and took them both to the mattress. She lifted her body and moved faster against him, then said, "Take me Andy."

He didn't need to be asked twice, and he rolled them over so he was on top of her, and entered her deeply again. "This what you need?" he whispered.

"Yes. Oh, God, yes. It's so much what I need." She wrapped her legs around his and canted her hips to take him deeper, gasping with every thrust. "So good, Andy," she moaned. "So, so good. Don't stop. Please don't stop. I need it so bad. I need you so bad. Oh, Andy. Make me come for you. I want to. I want you. You make me so hot, Andy. I just want you."

In spite of the lust crashing over him, Andy had to smile at the thought of the buttoned-up ice queen Sharon Raydor screaming her need for him. She was a wild woman, in fact. It took a lot of stamina to keep up with her. Then, as he stroked her, he could feel her body starting to shudder and clench with her impending climax.

Sharon was lost in herself. Nothing mattered but Andy's body, his mouth on her skin. Her world had shrunk to their two bodies, to the fireworks she knew were on the horizon. Then, her orgasm shattered her brain and she lost her mind for a minute, as Andy found his release and they fell against each other in an exhausted heap.

When Sharon mustered the will to notice what was going on, Andy was sweeping his hands down her back in long, gentle strokes and was whispering in her hair, telling her she was beautiful, sexy, hot, wild, wonderful. She finally lifted her face to his and his eyes were twinkling.

"You're smug again," she said.

"I'm entitled," came the teasing reply. "We've got a little while. I set the alarm on my cell. Relax and go to sleep, Sharon."

As she drifted off, she could have sworn she heard a barely whispered, "I love you." It was all right, though. Sharon was fairly certain she loved Andy, too.

* * *

When she got home, Rusty was in his room. His friend had long since gone and she made it to her bedroom before he spoke. "Hey Sharon."

"Hello," she said, loud enough for him to hear her through the closed door. She looked down at herself and chuckled. She hadn't made much of an effort to put herself back together. She had at least been able to get her stockings and garter belt out of her purse, where she had stuffed them. Wouldn't do to pull those out in the squad room the next morning, she thought with a smirk. She quickly donned her nightgown and robe and went out into the hall.

"Just now getting back?" he said.

She glanced at the clock in the den. "It's only 10:45."

"Have a good time?"

"We did."

Rusty grinned knowingly. "I'll bet. You look like it."

"Rusty!" Sharon exclaimed in exasperation.

"Chill out, Sharon. At least you didn't have to do the walk of shame outside his apartment in the morning." He was unrepentant.

"We've discussed this!" she said warningly.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. So just tell him to bring his toothbrush and shaving kit over. Not like I _mind_ if he spends the night. I know him, which is more than I can say about a lot of my mom's boyfriends. And he's cool. I like Andy. He's nice to you, and nice to me, too. Doesn't talk to me like I'm in kindergarten."

"I'm glad you noticed," she said, quietly.

"Sure I noticed. Andy's a good guy. He's really, you know, good to you. He respects you, not just as his boss, either, but as a woman. One thing being on the streets does for you – it makes you a really good judge of character. And Andy, well, he's a – just a really good man. I mean, he can come off as a jerk, but he's not. He's not mean. He can be, I know, but not as a habit. He's mean when he has to be on the job. But it's not his – his – his..." Rusty searched for the word, and Sharon waited patiently. "It's not his _nature_ to just be mean to people, just because. Does that make any sense?"

She smiled gently at this young man who had come to mean so much to her. "Yes. Yes, it does. It makes all kinds of sense. I'm glad you see that in Andy. A lot of people don't, you know."

"Well, it's not as obvious as it is with, like Lieutenant Tao, but all the people in your squad are good people."

"You're absolutely right. They are all good people. I need to make sure I remember that. Ready for bed?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to say good-night."

"Good night, Rusty," Sharon said, and hugged him. She stroked his hair. "Sweet dreams. Call me if you need me in the night."

"I-I will. Good night, Sharon."

As Sharon lay in the dark room, she was conscious of her body still tingling pleasantly from Andy's lovemaking. And her heart was warm too. Rusty was truly becoming a son to her, and Andy – well, she wasn't sure what they were, but whatever it was, it felt so good, and she wanted it to last. Somehow, she had stumbled on to Rusty and Andy – and they were both keepers. She turned over and fell into a deep sleep.


	12. Chapter 12: Blind Gambit

**A/N:** Yes, finally, an update! Hope you're still hanging in there with me! Please remember to leave those reviews!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 12: Blind Gambit**

Sharon was in her office early, sipping coffee and looking over the financials for their murder victim. She knew she had to get something accomplished before Andy got in and started throwing those _looks_ her way. When he did that, she couldn't concentrate. And after last night, well, she knew she would be blushing all day long. Sharon wasn't sure how Andy did what he did to her, but there was a sense of rightness between them when they were together.

Last night – oh, last night. She shivered when she thought of it. They had napped for a while, and when they woke up, she had put on Andy's T-shirt and they sat on the bed, with him just holding her. They talked of inconsequential things and she had leaned against his chest and he kissed her hair. She knew she had never felt so entirely comfortable – or so safe - with a man. But with Andy, it was as if she were in a sheltered place where nothing could touch her. It was such a foreign feeling to her that she hardly knew how to analyze it. John had always been cold, and she just hadn't known any better. But Andy – now that was a different story altogether. He was all heat, all fire, all passion. She sighed happily.

"I hope I put that look on your face," came Andy's voice as he poked his head around her door. He grinned and walked into her office.

"I had a particularly good cup of coffee this morning," Sharon replied primly.

"I'm crushed."

"And I'm not feeding your already gigantic ego. You're smug enough as it is."

Andy laughed outright at this. He sat in the chair across from her desk. "So what are you doing here so early?"

"Attempting to get something accomplished. I feel we just weren't able to get a thing done yesterday on the Gray case."

"Daniels will have the financials on the studio this morning. Count on it," Andy said. "Have we gotten in touch with the leading lady yet?"

"I'm asking Amy to bring her in today." Sharon tapped her pen on her chin. "There is something not right about this. Everyone on the lot had means and opportunity to shoot our victim, but who had the motive? I can't figure it out."

Andy shrugged. "Well, as they taught us in detective school, the three main motives for murder are sex, money and revenge. Revenge is usually tied in with one of the other two. So, did our victim have a bad love affair? Owe somebody money? Screw somebody over? Answer those questions and we'll have a suspect." He unfolded himself from the small chair and stood. "I'd better get to my desk before the rest of the peanut gallery gets here."

Sharon smiled. "I don't know if I told you that last night was wonderful."

He grinned. "My door's open. Anytime, day or night."

"Tempting offer. I'll consider it," she answered with a wry look.

"You do that, Captain," he replied and winked at her before he left.

Sharon shuddered. Just a wink. Every minute of last night had been condensed into that wink.

* * *

Julio had been on the phone and put the receiver down. He had an odd look on his face. "That was weird," he said out loud.

"What was weird?" Provenza asked.

"A woman called from this restaurant in Hollywood – one where the 'A' listers go. She said a man came in wanting a table for –get this – Justin Gray."

"Seriously?" Tao said.

"Seriously. Said he had a girl with him."

"Well, what did she do?" That was from Provenza.

"Told them they were full and she didn't have a table. She figured he was a nut, but thought we might want to know, just in case," Sanchez answered.

"Suppose they have security cameras out front?" Flynn said.

"Maybe," Sanchez replied.

"Might be worth a look. We're hurting for leads." Flynn looked at his list of the crew on the set. "I talked to just about everybody. One guy took a day of personal leave. He never showed up on the lot. This other guy – Lester Kendrick. He's on the catering crew. He showed up, but clocked out about 10:30 a.m. Crew chief said he went home sick."

"Do we have any evidence he actually left the lot?" Provenza said.

Flynn shrugged. "Not in the 10:30-11 a.m. time frame and that bugs me. I mean, they've got everyone's cars leaving but his. I'm gonna run a full background on him. Hey Mike, can you get in touch with the director, Coolidge, and ask him if they had any trouble with any of the catering people?"

"Sure, Andy. While I'm at it, I'll see if the studio cameras ever got his car leaving the lot."

"Thanks." He turned back to his computer and started running the background check. He read for a few moments and said, "What the hell?"

"What's up, Flynn?" Provenza asked.

"This Kendrick guy? Complete nut job. He must have lied on his application, or something. He's been picked up 10 times in the past four years for stalking. He's also spent some time with the state shrinks and has a peeping Tom charge from eight years ago. How about that?" He pulled up Kendrick's DMV photo. "Kind of looks like our victim, doesn't he? What do you want to bet this is who the woman at the restaurant turned away?" He printed out two copies and passed them around.

Provenza looked at the photo and leaned back in his chair. "Gentlemen, sounds like we have a suspect."

"It sure does," Sykes agreed. "Sanchez and I can go to the restaurant and see if we get an ID on his photo."

"A useful idea!" Provenza exclaimed. "Will wonders never cease?"

"C'mon, old man. Lighten up," Flynn answered. "You two see what you can find out. Also, check out some of the other upscale places in the area and see if our little nutcase has been there, too. And get a description on the girl he was with."

"Will do, Lieutenant," Julio replied. He and Sykes left the murder room and Sharon came out of her office.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Flynn brought her up to speed and her eyes widened. "How very interesting. We don't often have leads just appear like that, do we?"

"Rarely, Captain," Provenza answered. "So we hit the ground running on it."

"Absolutely."

"Captain, I have a shot of Kendrick's car leaving the lot at 4:30 p.m. After he clocked out at 10:30 a.m.," Tao said.

"Is that so?"

"Yes ma'am, and I have a call in to George Coolidge about Kendrick."

"Thank you, Mike. Andy, would you and Lieutenant Provenza go see if Mr. Kendrick is at home? If he is, please invite him in to talk to us. If he won't come in, call me. I'll get a warrant and you can go get him that way."

"Aye, Aye, Captain," Provenza said, a little sarcastically, but not in a nasty way. Andy grinned and since Provenza's back was turned, lifted his eyebrows and leered at Sharon.

She rolled her eyes, but wrinkled her nose in acknowledgement. Fortunately, Tao was nose-to-screen on his computer, and didn't see the exchange, either.

Sharon sighed as they walked out. She and Andy were living dangerously. Someone was certain to catch on.

An hour or so passed, with no word from her detectives. Sharon checked her phone to make sure no one had tried to call or text her. Nothing. Then, Tao looked in.

"Captain? Coolidge returned my call. He said he had used Kendrick as a stand-in a couple of times for our victim the past couple of days, since they did look alike, and were about the same height."

"Is that so? How interesting! Had no idea about Kendrick's background, I take it?"

"None," Tao answered. "Maybe Provenza and Flynn can get the guy at home."

"It would be almost too much to hope for, but at least we have a viable suspect," Raydor replied.

Tao grinned at her and went back to his desk.

* * *

Flynn and Provenza returned to the murder room that afternoon, empty-handed and disgusted. Flynn flopped down into his chair. "Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch."

Provenza was in his chair, chin on his hands, looking morosely at Raydor, who came out of her office.

"Nothing?" she said.

He shook his head. "We staked out that bastard's place for _three hours_, but he never came near it."

Raydor pursed her lips in frustration. "Well, Chief Pope has authorized pulling a uniform off shift, if we have a good suspect. I think Lester Kendrick is about as good as they come. I'll see about getting a uniform near his place. Maybe we can catch him coming in. Have we put out a BOLO on his car? If not, let's do that, then. But _quietly_. We don't want the media broadcasting this where he might find out we're looking for him."

"We can do it on the LAPD's private Twitter feed," Tao said. "Only police officers can access it."

"Sounds good, Mike. Let's do it that way, then. I have a feeling that he's going to turn up somewhere else, though. Are there any red carpet events where he might be tempted to go?"

Sykes ran a brief computer search. "Nothing on the net about anything in the next couple of days, Captain."

Raydor stood, arms folded, thinking. "All right. Alert Malibu police, San Diego and San Francisco about the car. Also the sheriff's departments between here and those locations and the Highway Patrol. If he goes somewhere else to pretend, I want someone looking for his car."

"We'll need BOLOs for two cars then, Captain." That was Sanchez, who had been on the phone.

"_Two_ cars, Julio?"

"Yes ma'am. Justin Gray parked one of his cars at a private, secure lot in Beverly Hills. It was driven off the lot last night by a man saying he was Gray. Even had his license."

"His _license_?" Raydor exclaimed. "Did we not recover Gray's identification from the crime scene?"

Tao looked quickly through his notes. "No license was recovered."

"That's not unusual, Captain," Flynn said. "A lot of stars don't carry ID on them. Their bodyguards or publicists or personal assistants have it. Some of them are so far out in la-la land that they can't keep up with that kind of stuff."

"How the hell do you know that, Flynn?" Provenza asked.

"Your memory's getting bad, old man. I spent my first two years on the beat in Hollywood. I picked up so many drunk celebrities, and maybe three out of ten would have ID on them. We just took them to the precinct and called their publicist, or whoever was their designated flunky to come to the jail at 3 a.m. and get them out of trouble." He chuckled. "The shift commander always had a list of publicists to call. So not getting an ID isn't uncommon."

Raydor sighed. "I should have looked at the evidence logs more carefully this morning. What kind of car are we talking about, Julio?

"Gray Maserati sedan."

"Well, it's not like we have ten thousand of those rolling around Southern California," Raydor answered. "So definitely put a BOLO out for that vehicle, as well. If we can find it, we can automatically pick Kendrick up for grand theft."

"Mucho grand theft. A car like that runs six figures," Julio replied.

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous," Flynn cracked.

"No doubt," Raydor answered. "So let's look where the rich and famous go, since Mr. Kendrick has assumed Justin Gray's identity."

Tao's phone rang. He picked it up and spoke for several minutes, then when he hung up, said, "Captain, we may have the murder weapon. That was George Coolidge. He said the prop master on set was checking the weapons and found one out of place. It had been cleaned, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be."

"Let me guess. A nine millimeter handgun," Raydor answered.

"Yep. He's having the prop master bring it to us. I'll get ballistics on it as soon as he gets here."

"Thanks, Mike. Hopefully, Kendrick left a fingerprint on the inside when he was cleaning it." She went to the murder board and peered at it. "That's what we need. We've got to have something linking Kendrick with that gun, ideally. Otherwise, all we can do is charge him with grand theft auto and identity theft." A thought hit her and she turned to Tao. "Mike, did we put out alerts on Kendrick's credit cards, and did our victim have any credit cards on him?"

Tao nodded. "I put the alert out on both. Nothing so far. But someone like Kendrick may have credit cards in another name."

"A distinct possibility," Raydor replied. "Maybe we'll find that Maserati." She paced in front of the murder board for a moment, thinking. "You know, the fact that Kendrick knew about the Maserati, where it was parked, etcetera, tells me he may have been following Gray for some while. How long had he been employed with the catering company, Mike?"

Tao looked at the file. "Six months, Captain. And let's see," he turned to his computer and his fingers flew across the keyboard. "From the catering company's website, it looks like they've catered the last three movies Gray was in, including this one. Kendrick was hired just before they started the second Justin Gray movie."

"It all makes sense. Andy, call our victim's personal assistant and see if he was concerned about any unusual stalking behavior. Kendrick may have been sending him letters or something."

"Will do," Flynn replied, turning to rifle through the paperwork for the number. After a conversation lasting 15 minutes or so, he hung up the phone with a "Humph. Well, that makes sense. Personal assistant said letters started coming in about – wait for it – six months ago from someone claiming to be a fan. The vic sent the writer a nice autographed photo – usual procedure – and the number of letters tripled after that. He said they were just the usual 'love your work' kind of stuff for a while, but when the vic didn't keep responding, they got darker, more threatening. And guess what? The name on the letters? Lester Kendrick. I asked him to send us copies of the letters."

Raydor nodded. "Thank you Andy." She looked at the murder board again. "The hazards of being famous," she mused. "We've got to find that Maserati. And hope that gun the prop master is bringing in is the murder weapon. Preferably with a set of full fingerprints."

"I'll settle for a decent partial," Provenza answered.

"Me too, but more would be nice," Raydor replied. "I want to see those letters, too."

"Assistant said he was sending them by courier, so we should have them in an hour or so."

When the letters arrived, Flynn looked them over. "This guy is a real winner. He's seriously messed up. Listen to this, 'Justin, you have to know you can't do this forever. You need help. You need me to help you. The fame will become too much, and it will eat you alive. But I can help you. I can help you escape. You don't need to work so hard. You'll kill yourself.'" Flynn looked around. "Kooky enough, right? Here's the next one, written a few days later. 'You didn't answer me. You didn't respond. Don't you know I have to do something about that? People know about us, now. They'll find out and I'll have to terminate our relationship.' This guy has toys in the attic."

"Which makes him even more dangerous," Raydor said.

"I hate dealing with the crazies," Provenza remarked.

"Don't we all?" Sanchez replied. "Too unpredictable."

"Which is what the Army said about him," Tao put in. "I ran some more checks on him, and he wanted to enter the Army about eight years ago. Couldn't pass even the preliminary psych portion."

"Well, there's your trouble," Flynn deadpanned.

Raydor glared at him. "Does anyone have anything _helpful_ to offer?"

Provenza said, "O.K. I think we've established that he wants to be Justin Gray. He wants to take his identity. Let him. We'll find him in some high-flying restaurant, putting money on Gray's credit cards. Track them. He doesn't need to know we're on to him."

Flynn nodded. "Yeah. Let him get complacent. Hey Sykes, you want to track where the vic went most often from his credit cards? Chances are, he'll continue the pattern."

"Right," Raydor answered. "And call the most frequented establishments and tell the managers to just play along. We'll wait a day or two, and see what we turn up. I talked to the director and he said they're having to halt production until they can sign someone else, so he won't be wandering back onto the lot."

"I suggest we plant people in the restaurants to see if we can locate him," Provenza said.

Raydor nodded. "Sounds good."

"Flynn wears the tailored suits. Send him in," Provenza suggested. "Member of the Mob. These people know all the movie bigwigs, so it's not like he could pose as a producer or something. Sykes, you can go with him as his date." She brightened at that.

"_I_ wear Prada," Raydor said, miffed.

"You're the best dressed woman in the LAPD," Provenza said, "and I know you want to be in on the action, but Captain, Mob guys Flynn's age have trophy wives, and you've got a little too much, um, patina."

"Why me? Tao can borrow my suits," Flynn groused.

Provenza rolled his eyes. "Because Tao couldn't pass for a mobster if his life depended on it. He's a geek, not a goodfella. You grew up down the street from the wiseguys in Jersey. You can play the part." Fynn grimaced in reply, and Tao looked a little injured that Provenza thought he might not be capable of playacting a mobster.

Sharon understood Provenza's logic, but she didn't have to like it. "All right. Let's make a list of some of our victim's most frequented eateries and make our plans from there."

* * *

Thursday was dinner at Spago's for Justin Gray, and the consensus was that was the place to catch Kendrick. Parking was valet-only, and it wasn't a huge place. Flynn and Sykes met in the murder room.

"I'm going to get changed in the ladies room," she said. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"O.K. I've got to get ready, too." Flynn went to the men's room to put on his coat and check it in the mirror, to make sure his weapon and holster couldn't be seen under his coat. It was a smaller gun, not his service weapon. It was, in fact, designed for concealed carry. He checked the loads and set the safety on. His badge was in his coat pocket, where it couldn't be seen. He knotted his tie and straightened it. With extremely flashy sapphire cufflinks, a sapphire tie pin, gray suit with matching solid gray tie and pocket handkerchief, Andy had to admit he looked every inch the Jersey mobster made good. He chuckled ruefully. His mother would turn over in her grave at the sight.

He went back into the murder room, where Sykes stood. She was a solid knockout. She wore a minidress in a vivid tangerine that complimented her cocoa skin. Her heels were sky-high, and with them, she was nearly as tall as Andy. Her hair was up, and she dripped in jewelry that looked like the real thing. The dress was a deep V-neck halter, and whatever she wore underneath made for eye-popping cleavage.

"Wow," Andy said. "You look fabulous. Really. Where did you get that ice?"

"Same place you found your bling. Borrowed it from the prop master on the set of our vic's movie. You clean up pretty good too, by the way."

"Thanks. Got Sanchez to requisition that navy Mercedes roadster from the impound lot as our car."

"You reminded him to put the plates on it so we don't get pulled over, right?" Sykes referred to the license plates that, when checked, would return the results that the car was in the LAPD impound, checked out for official purposes.

"Oh yeah. And the impound guys washed and detailed it. It is one sweet ride. Too bad it belonged to that bigwig in a Mexican drug cartel. He had to give it up when he went to San Quentin," Andy snickered.

"Can I drive it?" Sykes asked, hopefully.

"No way. If for no other reason than a mobster would never let his woman drive his car. He'd buy her one, but she'd never be behind the wheel of his car. We've got to maintain the cover, just in case Kendrick sees us outside the restaurant."

"We don't have a warrant. What if we do see him?"

"Well, if he uses Gray's credit cards, we bust him for fraud, identity theft, and credit card theft. That's enough to get him downtown. We'll worry about the murder charge when we get the prints from that gun."

Sykes checked her watch. "Well, our reservations are for seven. We need to get going."

"Yeah," Flynn answered.

As they walked to the impound lot to get the car, Amy was feeling a little smug. Yes, it was undercover work, but finally, she was getting to go out with Flynn. He pulled off the Mob look with ease. She rather thought if Andy hadn't become a cop, he might be the head of some crime family by now.

They arrived at the restaurant and Andy gave the keys to the valet, with a nod and a twenty. The kid grinned and went to park the Mercedes in a good spot. They entered the place and Andy looked around briefly. The maitre'd looked a little startled, and Amy was reminded once again that Flynn could generate "presence" when he wanted to. Yeah, he was right for this. No way could Tao have managed that look. Flynn nodded at the maitre'd. "Marcelo at seven, table for two," he growled, the Jersey thick in his voice.

"Certainly, sir. Right this way," the man said, and led them to their table, shooting nervous looks at Flynn the whole time.

As they were seated, both officers scanned the dining room for anyone resembling Kendrick, but didn't see him. "At least we can see the entrance from here," Andy said, looking at the menu. "God, how can people afford to eat at this place? Well, they do have something I can eat."

"Wouldn't a Jersey mobster order the biggest steak on the menu?" Sykes asked.

Andy grinned at her. "Even the Mob is a little more health-conscious these days. Don't worry. I'll make it look good." He ordered the salad and the Dover sole, which was pricey enough.

"So how did we get the LAPD to finance this meal?" Amy said.

"They're not. The studio is. They said they'd reimburse the department for everything we spent in finding Gray's killer."

"They must be. Even this dress is a Marchesa from their wardrobe department. Lord knows I could never afford one," she answered.

"Well, this suit is Armani from a consignment shop just off Rodeo Drive, and tailored by a little guy from Hong Kong who has a place in Chinatown."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Why pay top dollar when I can buy consignment and pay $75 extra to get it tailored?"

"Makes sense to me." Sykes looked around. "Is that our suspect?" she said, low.

Andy glanced in the direction. "Looks like him. Why don't you make a trip to the ladies room and give him a closer look as you walk by?"

She nodded and rose from the table. When she returned, she resumed her seat. "That's him. Now what?"

"Now, we wait. We eat and we wait for him to finish. I've got an idea," Andy answered. They talked over his plan as they ate.

When Amy saw the server bring Kendrick the check, and he put a credit card on the tray, she got up and went to the table. "Justin Gray? My God! They said you'd been shot!" she exclaimed.

Kendrick smiled at her. "Just a nasty rumor. Greatly exaggerated and all that."

"I'm so glad. I mean, wow! I love all your movies!" she gushed. She deftly snagged the credit card from the table. "I've never seen real celebrity plastic before! Joey! Come here, why don't you?"

With a mock sigh, Andy rose from the table and ambled over to where Amy stood. "_Cara_. Leave the man alone, why don't you?"

"But Joey! It's Justin Gray! The actor, you know! Justin, this is Joey Marcelo."

Kendrick offered his hand. Andy took it and twisted the man's arm behind him. "Actually, it's Lieutenant Andy Flynn, LAPD, and my friend is Detective Amy Sykes. Lester Kendrick, you're under arrest for credit card theft, theft by deception, identity theft, credit card fraud, and probably murder in a day or two. But we'll stick with the theft charges for now." Andy cuffed Kendrick as he protested loudly. The maitre'd hurried over, distressed, but Andy flashed his badge, which ended that argument. Kendrick's lady friend, however, was not so easily pacified.

"What is this? What's Justin done? Who's Lester Kendrick?" she yelled.

Sykes took her arm. "_This_ is Lester Kendrick. The media was right. Justin Gray was murdered in his trailer a few days ago. And if you don't settle down, I'm cuffing you for obstruction. You need to walk out of here and call a cab to take you home."

The maitre'd was reduced to helpless fluttering. "Officers, please! Get him out of here and let my patrons finish their dinner in peace!"

"Sure," Flynn said and hustled Kendrick out of the building, Sykes following, calling on her cell for a black and white to transport their suspect to the station.

Outside, Andy tossed the ticket to the startled valet and with Sykes holding Kendrick, called Sharon.

"Captain? We got him," he said.

"You did? Great!" she exclaimed. "I'll meet you in the murder room, then. Good work."

"Thanks. See you there."

On the drive back, Amy turned to Flynn. "Andy, this was fun. I mean, I know it's work, but we had a good time. We really ought to do this again. For real, the next time."

Andy rolled his eyes. Did the woman never give up? "Amy, it _has_ been fun, but..." his voice trailed off.

"But?"

"But... Look. You're a good cop and I like you. But not that way."

"Are you gay?" she retorted.

"Hell, no!" he exclaimed. "You're a good-looking woman. But no. Just no."

Amy sat back, arms crossed, a sullen expression on her face. "You have no idea what you're missing," she said. "And you're a fool."

He shrugged. "Maybe so. God knows I've been one before." He hated to do this, but she wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

"And you won't even give me a chance. Sounds like you're already attached."

Shit. Why did she have to go _there_? "I'm not discussing it," he said, a little steel creeping into his tone.

They were stopped for a light, and Amy reached a hand to his knee. She ran it up his thigh. "I could make you forget whoever she is. I'd love the opportunity. You are so damn sexy. I like men with a little maturity. Boys don't do anything for me."

Andy put her hand firmly back on her side of the console. "Stop it. Now. I can't stand pushy women."

She sat back again with a "Humph!" She looked over at him. "Asshole."

"Yep," was all he said, wishing she had just left well enough alone. Now she was going to be impossible for a while.

Raydor was in the murder room when her officers arrived. Sykes was obviously irritated and Flynn just looked tired. What had happened? "Good catch, you two," she said.

"Thanks, Captain," Flynn replied.

"My pleasure," was Sykes' answer, sarcastic, as she looked over at Flynn and narrowed her eyes. He just turned away from her and started tapping on his computer keyboard. Something was definitely up, Raydor thought.

"Lieutenant Flynn, would you join me in interview one while we wait for Mr. Kendrick to come in?"

"Sure, Captain. Just getting my preliminary report done." He saved his work and followed Raydor into the room, Sykes looking daggers at him the whole way.

* * *

Once inside, Sharon switched off the camera feed. "What's going on? Skyes looked like she wanted to shoot you."

Andy rolled his eyes. "She's been trying to get me to go out with her, and no matter how many times I've told her 'no,' it hasn't sunk in. She asked me again on the trip back over here. I told her no – again – and then when I was stopped at a light, she ran her hand up my thigh! Sharon, I really was as nice about it as I could be, but that really pissed me off, after I'd been clear about it. I didn't give any kind of mixed signals. She's just stubborn and pushy."

"Then what?" Sharon was getting pissed herself. The nerve of Sykes, touching Andy!

"Then she called me an asshole and that was it." He rested his chin on his hand and stared morosely at the wall. "I hate drama."

Sharon nodded. "That makes two of us. Well, she didn't, and I presume, still doesn't know we're dating, right?"

"Of course not."

She grinned a little wickedly and ran her hand up Andy's leg. "So I really can't blame her for doing this. Because, you really are looking hot tonight."

"Witch," he said. "I guarantee you it didn't to do me what it does when it's your hand."

"That's good to know." Sharon wasn't upset with Andy, but she was more than a little miffed at Sykes for not backing off when Andy said no thanks. And Sykes was 25 years her junior and a beautiful woman. There was a little jealousy involved. She knew Andy liked to look at pretty girls.

"So Sykes is ill about it."

Sharon sniffed. "She'd better behave. She brought this on herself, so she doesn't need to make you pay for it." She flipped the camera feed back on. "Well, Lieutenant, let's see what Mr. Kendrick has to say for himself."

"Yeah, that ought to be interesting," Flynn replied.

"I'm counting on it."

A minute or two later, two uniforms opened the door and escorted Kendrick inside.

"Have a seat," Flynn said.

Kendrick sat and Raydor looked at him for a long moment. "Mr. Kendrick, I'm Captain Sharon Raydor, head of Major Crimes. I believe you've already met Lieutenant Flynn." She sat back and stared at him again. "This division has gone to quite a bit of trouble and expense to find you."

"I'm Justin Gray. You got it wrong," Kendrick answered.

Flynn rolled his eyes expressively. "Stop it, moron," he said. "I saw Gray's body, and I saw the bullet holes you put there. So drop the act, confess and we'll get you down to Booking, and then we can go home."

Raydor could not hide a grin at her lieutenant. He did have a way of stripping any situation down to the bare bones. She patted his arm. "I think we need to hear his side of the story. Mr. Kendrick, we know you killed Justin Gray, but I must tell you I'm curious about why you did it."

"_He_ was a phony. I'm Justin Gray. Why won't anyone believe me?"

Flynn snorted and shook his head.

Raydor removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Kendrick, we know who you are. You're Lester Dewayne Kendrick, born in Pasadena in 1980. You attended Pasadena High School. Your parents are Lyle and Darlene Kendrick. You never were never, and are not now, Justin Gray. So, as Lieutenant Flynn suggested, please drop the act. It isn't going to get you anywhere, and I'm getting a little tired of it, myself."

Kendrick looked at both officers. His face turned sullen and Flynn was ready to bet his pension he knew which words were about to come out of the suspect's mouth.

"I want a lawyer" - Flynn would have won that bet.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Raydor replied. She stood, opened the door and motioned the uniforms in. "Please take Mr. Kendrick to Holding and make sure he gets his phone call. I'm sure Legal Aid won't be able to get anyone here before morning, so he will need to spend the night with us." When the officers left the murder room, Raydor walked to the murder board and looked at it again. "All right. We've done all we can do until Kendrick finds a lawyer, so let's all go home and get some sleep."

Flynn sighed and took off the cufflinks and tie pin. He put them in a small lockbox on his desk, and then placed it on Sykes' desk. "I guess we can leave this in your office, Captain, until the prop guy comes back for it."

"Certainly, Andy. And thank you and Amy for doing a great job at the restaurant."

"You're welcome, Captain," Amy said, dropping the jewelry she had worn in the box as she scowled at Andy. He pretended not to notice.

* * *

Andy had made it to the parking garage when he felt a hand on his arm. He started, but it was Sharon. "Long night," she said.

"Yeah. I'm ready for some shut-eye. Time was when I could howl all night, but not anymore." He grinned at her.

"I know the feeling. Walk over here with me."

Andy followed Sharon to her car, which was parked next to a concrete pillar. She slipped behind it and held out her arms. "I could use a good-night kiss," she said.

He smiled wickedly. "Me too." He took her in his arms and held her close for a while, his cheek next to her hair, feeling her warmth seep into his body. He dipped his head then, and took her lips with his, kissing her tenderly, sweetly.

Sharon pressed herself to Andy, and returned the kiss, wishing they had more time, that it wasn't so late, that they both weren't so tired. She just wanted him beside her, to hold her all night.

She broke the kiss and whispered, "Come and spend the night. I just want you next to me."

Those dark eyes widened, and then twinkled at her. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. Stop by your place, get a change of clothes and come on over. Please."

"What about Rusty?" he asked.

"He doesn't mind. He gave you the seal of approval." She smiled.

Andy chuckled. "Nice to know." He paused, still holding Sharon, running his hands up and down her back. "O.K. I'll meet you there."

Sharon nodded. "Good." She reached into her purse and pulled out a key. "Here's my spare key. Let yourself in."

When his hand closed over the key, Andy knew something had changed in their relationship, but that was fine with him. "All right. I'll see you in a bit."

She put her hand to his face. "O.K.," she answered and got into her car.

Andy walked back to his car, never seeing Amy Sykes across the way. But she had seen them. And she wasn't happy about it.

Andy let himself into Sharon's place quietly and silently closed the door. His suit hung in his car, and he had a backpack with his other clothes in it. The den was dark, so he went to Sharon's bedroom door and knocked softly.

"Come in," he heard her whisper.

He went into the room. Sharon was sitting up in bed, reading. "Hi. I didn't even hear you come in."

"I was trying to be quiet." He had changed at his place, so he kicked off his sneakers and slipped out of his jeans, putting them on a chair. He dug in his backpack and found a pair of sleep shorts and put those on. "Don't want to walk out of here and run into the kid in my skivvies," he said with a smile.

"Like Rusty would even notice. But I appreciate your consideration. You look worn out Andy." She patted the space beside her. "Come to bed."

"Best invitation I've had in a while." He slipped underneath the cover and fluffed the pillow. He lay down with a sigh. "This has to be the most comfortable mattress."

"It should be, considering what I paid for it," she replied with a smirk. She took off her glasses, placed her book on the night stand and turned out the light. She snuggled next to Andy, who pulled her close to his body.

"Good night, babe," he said. "Thanks for the sleepover invite."

"Good night to you and you're welcome," was her sleepy reply.


	13. Chapter 13: Examining the Options

**A/N:** Yes, an update! The muse was cooperative this week. Thank you for all the reviews, faves and follows. I know I always say how much I appreciate it, but I absolutely do! A little more plot development than lots of action here, but more is on the way!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Examining the Options**

Andy stirred and squinted at the window. It was still early. Sun wasn't even up yet. But he had slept deeply, without dreams that he remembered. It seemed like he slept better when Sharon was next to him.

She was turned to face him, curled up. He could just make out her face in the predawn dimness. They had at least another hour before they needed to get up. She shivered a little and Andy could see she had thrown her blanket off during the night. He carefully brought it up over her shoulder, tenderly tucking it into place and she immediately snuggled into its warmth.

He scooted a little closer and put his arm around her waist. Sharon sighed and cuddled to him, still asleep. Andy could think of worse ways to wake up than next to a sexy woman like Sharon Raydor. He wished they didn't have to work today. He wanted to drive up the coast, or maybe down to San Diego. Something to think about this weekend. Neither of them were on call, and if Rusty came along, fine. Andy just wanted to spend time with her. He still wondered how they were going to work it out about being on the same squad together. Taylor would have to be told, eventually. That wasn't going to be fun, but they had to do it to follow the rules, and Sharon was still a stickler about following the rules.

He was dozing when Sharon said softly, "About that time, Andy."

He opened his eyes. "Morning. Sleep well?"

"Like the proverbial log. You?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Something about you sleeping next to me is good."

She smiled. "I'm glad. Wonder if Kendrick's lawyer is going to try to plead insanity?"

"Probably, but this time, really, I don't even care. The sooner we don't have to deal with movie people, the happier I'll be."

Sharon ran her hand down Andy's side. "What are you going to do about Sykes?"

He had raised up on an elbow and shook his head. "Beats me. I think I told her about as plainly as you can tell someone you're not interested without being a total prick about it. I don't want to hurt her feelings, and I really hate it when I'm put in that position. I told her no once!" He sighed.

"Want me to talk with her about it?"

"Nah. Makes me sound like a snitch and puts you in a bad position, too. I don't want to look like a third-grade tattle-tale."

"I guess for now, we'll let it ride and see what happens."

Andy nodded. "Gramma Flynn always said, 'least said, soonest mended.' Sounds like the way to play it for now."

"I suppose." She sat up. "The bigger question is what are we going to do about us? Taylor is not going to like this."

Andy sighed deeply. "I know. I thought about that this morning. Keeping it on the down low as long as we can sounds good to me, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

"I'm not crazy about either of our options," she replied.

"Me either. Taylor's gonna have a cow either way."

"Well, it _is_ against regulations."

Andy snorted. "Those 'regulations' are for kids who don't know how to handle themselves, and to keep borderline pervs like Will Pope from dipping their pens in really fresh company ink, so to speak. They didn't include 'regulations' for ranking officers with as many years on the force as the two of us have. I understand why they're necessary, but for two old dogs like us? C'mon!"

Sharon looked at him. "Andrew Joseph Flynn, did you just call me _'old'_?"

Oops. "Just a figure of speech, that's all. You're not old, but between the two of us, we have racked up a few years in the LAPD." He smiled winningly at her.

She rolled her eyes. "You're quite impossible."

He nodded. "Always have been. Too late to change me now."

"Undoubtedly," she answered dryly. Then a thought struck her. "I need to talk to someone who is accustomed to circumventing the rules. I think I need to call one Brenda Leigh Johnson."

"Talk to the chief? Are you serious?" Andy wasn't sure which shocked him more: that Sharon was actually considering circumventing _any_ rule, or that she would enlist Brenda's help to do it.

"Yes, I think I am serious. I've always prided myself on being able to work with people, even if I didn't like them, but my relationship with Taylor has been strained the past several months. He thought I would be much more malleable than my predecessor, and he doesn't like it when I stand up for my division. I don't know what he expected, though."

Andy snickered. "He expected you to leave any of us swinging in the wind if he wanted you to, or if it would make him look better."

He sat up too and looked seriously at her. "Listen, Sharon. I used to work for Taylor. I know him. I told the Chief more than once to watch her back around him. Taylor is out to advance his career, first and foremost. Everything else, and I mean _everything_, is secondary. In some ways, he's worse than Pope. As long as _he_ looks good, as long as _his_ career isn't threatened, everything is fine. He'll hang any of us out to dry if he thinks it will benefit him. I worked in homicide for five years with him, and the _first_ time a question came up about how I handled a case, he was ready to open up an IA investigation on me. Not because he thought there was necessarily any merit to it, but because _his_ ass might be on the line. He would have cheerfully thrown me to the wolves – one of his ranking detectives – to save his own skin. That's when I knew Chief Johnson was concerned with catching bad guys. She didn't open the investigation. We hated each other back then, but she didn't let that get in the way. She was willing to do the _right_ thing, not the thing that would help her get ahead. Taylor doesn't care and the sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be."

Sharon nodded slowly. "I always wondered how you came to be so loyal to her. Explains a lot. Not that you still don't have a fairly hefty personnel file of unnecessary force accusations." She grinned at him.

"Remember when I said I had been cleared of every one of them? But you've been with the division long enough now to know that sometimes, a little friendly persuasion is necessary." His grin was wicked.

"I don't need to hear that."

Andy put his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. "I managed to persuade you to give me a chance."

"That was dirty pool and you know it."

"Like I said, it was either that or drag you into the stairwell and kiss you senseless."

Sharon relaxed into Andy's arms for a brief moment, then wriggled away. "We've got to get up. I have two bathrooms, but Rusty takes forever in the shower. I don't know why he has to spend 20 minutes in there. He's worse about his hairdo than I am!" She chuckled.

"When you're 16 and you have ladies to impress, you have to look good," Andy replied.

"I suppose that's true," Sharon said with a rueful grin. She got up and went to her closet. "There is nothing in here I feel like wearing today."

"So go like you are. I think you look great," Andy replied.

She looked over her shoulder. "You're not helping."

He shrugged. "Sorry. Wear that dark green pantsuit. I can't take my eyes off you in that."

"I'm not sure I want you ogling me all day."

"Yeah, you do. You like it when I ogle."

He had here there. She glanced at him. The tomcat grin was back in full force. She did like it when she knew his eyes followed her. It made her feel sexy and womanly. He stood then, and stretched. He slipped into his jeans and T-shirt. "I need to go down and get my clothes."

"All right."

He stepped out of the bedroom. Rusty was in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. Andy nodded at him. "Morning."

Rusty stared at him for a moment. "Hey."

Andy left the apartment and Rusty immediately went to Sharon's bedroom door and knocked. "Sharon?"

"Yes, Rusty," she answered.

"Can you open the door for a second?"

"One minute," she replied and slipped into her robe. She opened the door. "What's up?"

He pointed to the door. "Flynn spent the night?"

She nodded. "You said you didn't have a problem with it."

"I don't. I'd just like, you know, some warning."

Sharon smiled gently. "I understand, but it was very late when he came in and we'd both had a long, tiring day. You were already asleep and I didn't want to disturb you."

"O.K. I was kind of surprised, that's all."

"That's all right. You really don't mind?"

Rusty shook his head. "No. Flynn – Andy – like I said, he's really nice to you and you're happy when you're with him. It's all right. I'm cool with it. Seriously."

She nodded. "I'm glad. Now, I need to get ready for work. Andy went to the car to get his clothes."

"O.K. I need to get ready, too."

Andy came in with his clothes, but downed a quick bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee before dressing. Sharon came out of the bedroom, fully dressed, and putting in earrings. Rusty was in his room, so Andy leered at her. "Good choice on the green pantsuit," he said.

"Lech," she answered.

"Only with you, sweet thing," he cheerfully replied. "Only with you."

* * *

Once at the station, they were all business. DDA Hobbes stopped by Raydor's office. "Captain, I hate to tell you this, but…"

"Kendrick is pleading insanity and his lawyer told him to clam up," she finished.

Hobbes nodded. "That's it."

Raydor sighed. "You know? At this point, I just don't care. I'm like Lieutenant Flynn. The sooner we don't have to deal with these movie people, the happier I am. Although, I do appreciate that they're taking care of the overtime and expenses we incurred in catching Kendrick."

"They should have," Hobbes replied. "Your division went to a lot of trouble for them."

"Indeed we did. Well, I'll tell them to pack up everything and send it to your office."

"Thanks, Captain." She left.

Flynn was coming back from Hobbes' office, where he had dropped off the last box of evidence in the Kendrick case. Sykes stepped out into the hall. "Hello there," she said.

"Hiya," he answered pleasantly.

"Lunch plans?" she asked, her tone innocent.

What part of "no" did this woman not understand? Still, he wouldn't take the bait. "Nah. Just me and Provenza going to that diner he likes."

"Sounds nice. I'm surprised you're not going to lunch with your girlfriend." Her voice was now snarky.

"Girlfriend? What are you talking about, Sykes?" What prompted this, Flynn wondered.

Sykes moved to stand in front of him. "Captain Raydor. Your girlfriend. Don't deny it. I saw you two playing tonsil hockey in the parking deck last night. And you _let_ me make a fool of myself over you! Well, aren't you two going to look a little silly when Chief Taylor finds out what's going on?" Now she was venomous.

Andy Flynn had worked for a long time to get a handle on his ugly temper, but it suddenly erupted. He pointed to an empty office. "Get in there. We need to set a few things straight," he growled.

"I'm not going anywhere except to Chief Taylor's office," she snapped, turning away from him.

Flynn didn't actually touch Sykes, but he did curl his hand into the collar of her jacket. "Walk in there and we settle this privately, or by God, I'm telling the whole division the whole sorry story and you can deal with it."

Sykes realized Andy wasn't bluffing. He didn't bluff. She said, "Fine. If you'll let go of me, I'll consider not filing a harassment charge on you."

"Try it. Now go in there." He dropped his hand.

She walked into the office. "Speak your piece."

Flynn closed the door. "I _never_ encouraged you. I told you from the first time you propositioned me that I wasn't interested. I tried to be nice about it, but you wouldn't let me. If you felt like a fool, you did it to yourself, for coming on to me after I told you no. That's your fault and you're not pinning it on me."

"I still saw you kissing Raydor. That is SO against regulations!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "So what? Have you seen her give me any preferential treatment? No. And you won't. She's too professional for that. Something else, Sykes. I think Sanchez told you once that this division does not tolerate snitches. We don't put up with it. We've been burned once, and I guaran-damn-tee you it won't happen again. You go tattling to Chief Taylor, and your career in the LAPD is _over!_ Once word gets out that you can't be trusted not to tell everything you know, no one will work with you. Raydor will transfer you out of this division in a New York second, and no one will speak up for you. They might even agree that you had a point about us. But they'll never defend you because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. And not because I was the teacher's pet or something, and it was a situation that needed fixing, but because I wouldn't go out with you. The worst you could do would be to force us into a situation where we retired. But we'd both still get our full pensions and you'd be an outcast. You might get some personal satisfaction from it, but it would kill your career. Think about it, Sykes." Flynn had said all there was to say, so he turned on his heel and left her standing in the empty room.

Skyes was a little stunned. She wasn't afraid of Flynn, certainly, but she had never seen him so angry with a member of the squad as he was with her. And Sanchez had told her that tattle-tales weren't welcome in the Major Crimes division. David Gabriel's screw-up had really put the whole squad on high alert, and they were all hypervigilant where snitches were concerned.

She was still pissed at Flynn. Mostly because her pride was sore. Yes, it was all her own fault, but she didn't want to admit it. "Suck it up, soldier," she said out loud. No, she wouldn't tell Taylor, but if she had a chance to stick it to Flynn, she'd take it.

Flynn was pissed at Sykes, too. He thought he had scared her into silence, but he and Sharon were going to have to be twice as careful, now. He didn't think Sanchez or Tao would care that they were dating. Provenza would have some smart ass remarks to make, but he'd come around, too. The best option might be to go ahead and tell the rest of the squad. He knew he and Raydor could count on them to keep it quiet, and if questioned, they would gladly prevaricate. They disliked Taylor as much as he did.

With that in mind, Flynn went to Raydor's other office door and peeked in. "Got a sec?"

She nodded and Andy walked inside. "Sykes knows. She saw us in the parking deck last night and she is pissed."

Sharon shook her head and put her forehead on her hand. "Dammit," she cursed. "If she hadn't decided she wanted to make a play for you, it wouldn't be a big deal. What did you tell her?"

"That it was her own fault for coming on to me after I told her no, and that if she told Taylor, there wouldn't be a division in the LAPD that would work with her again."

"Well, that's true enough. I know the last days Gabriel was with this division, no one in the building would speak to him. Word got around that he was the leak. I'm just as glad Brenda was able to take him with her. You're right. No one would have worked with him. I'm really a little surprised she took him on."

"He was always her favorite, and she never really even acted otherwise. Not that she was mean to the rest of us, and God knows she pulled my ass out of the fire a couple of times, but we all knew she was partial to David. It's been long enough now that I've got a little perspective on it, and I'm not really angry with him anymore, but it just seems like he should have seen it."

"Love, Andy," Sharon replied.

"Yeah, I know. Love. It blinds you sometimes. Now, I've got a question for you. Ever regret stirring up all that crap in this division when you were in IA?" He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Let's say I have a better understanding of why Brenda did what she did sometimes. Doesn't mean I agree with it, but I do understand it more."

"Did you make a lunch date with her?"

Sharon smiled. "I did. I think she was surprised, but she seemed pleased, too."

"That's good. Tell her I said hello."

"I will."

* * *

"It's good to see you, Brenda," Sharon said as they sat down in the little tea room for lunch.

"You too, Captain. Well, I guess I can say 'Sharon' now, can't I?"

"I wish you would," she answered. "So how's it going on your side of the fence?"

Brenda put her napkin in her lap. "Pretty good. I like the work. But I'm tellin' you, when I hear the squad has rolled out, I do sometimes get the itch to go, too."

Sharon chuckled. "Come along sometime, just for old time's sake. We'll say you're a consultant."

Brenda looked at her former adversary. Sharon was smiling, relaxed. She looked – happy. "So how's Rusty? I talk to him some, but you know how kids are."

"Don't I just? He's doing very, very well. It's been wonderful. I did have to really sit down on him a couple of times for fighting at school, but he's settled down. His grades are good, and he's really enjoying the chess team. I'm so proud of him for making the most of this opportunity."

Brenda grinned. "You couldn't have told me anything I'd rather hear. That's wonderful."

"How's your father doing?"

Her smile turned a little sad. "O.K. He's with Clay Junior some and that's been good. And he has been back here once, and I've been back, too. But we all still miss Mama like everything. This is going to be a hard Christmas. You know, she loved Christmas so much."

Sharon nodded. "I understand."

"Thanks. Now, Sharon, you didn't call me just to catch up, although I'm glad you did call. What's going on?"

Raydor smiled broadly. "Brace yourself, but I'm about to ask your advice on something."

"For real?" Brenda's eyes were wide.

"For real. You see, in the past little while, I've started seeing someone. I guess there was always an attraction, but well, we're dating now."

Brenda leaned forward, her brown eyes sparkling wickedly. "You're dating Provenza?" she teased.

Sharon grinned at that. "Worse. Andy Flynn."

Brenda's mouth dropped open. "Not possible. You're just messing with my head."

"I assure you I am not," Sharon replied.

"Well, I'll be John Brown. How in the world did _that _happen?"

"You want the whole story or the condensed version?"

"Oh, I've got to know everything. You and Andy. If that don't beat all! So spill!" Brenda was grinning widely and rubbed her hands together in glee.

Sharon started with the story of Andy's relapse, and Brenda shook her head slowly. "Well, I'm glad he's better. Then what?"

She told about Andy pursuing her and how she kept pushing him away.

"I can imagine how well that worked out. Quickest way to get Andy to do anything is to tell him he can't, the contrary old hound."

Sharon laughed at that. "Very true."

"Keep talking," Brenda said as she ate her chicken salad.

Raydor continued with the story of the ball game, and their bargain. "And we had the most wonderful evening, and it's been great since then. Brenda, he's so _sweet_!"

She giggled in reply. "I know it. Lord knows he doesn't want you to find out, but you oughta see him with animals and little kids. They love him and he loves them right back."

"He's great with Rusty. Really. He knows just exactly what to say sometimes to get him back on track."

"So now, I expect you're trying to decide how to make sure Taylor doesn't find out until you want him to know, and how to handle telling him."

Sharon shook her head. "Brenda, you're as good at interrogation as you ever were. Got any ideas?"

"Let me get over the idea that Sharon Raydor is thinking about skirting the regulations, first. What does Andy say? Never mind. He says play shut-mouth."

"Naturally. But he also said the regulations were for kids who couldn't handle their relationships, and for people like Will Pope, who needed rules in place to remind them to keep their hands to themselves."

Brenda laughed heartily. "I do miss Andy. David is such a diplomat, and there's not an ounce of diplomacy in Andy Flynn's handsome self. You don't want to know what he thinks, don't ask him."

"I found that out early on. So you think Andy's handsome?"

Brenda looked at her in disbelief. "I've got eyes don't I? If I hadn't already been sort of involved with Fritzie early on, well, once I found out Andy's a good man, I might have gone after him my own self! He can throw some _looks _at a girl!"

"Don't I know it. So how do you think we should handle this?"

"By being sneaky. First thing you do is look through Taylor's personnel file and old cases. See if he ever did anything that never came up for investigation, but probably ought to have. He's so concerned about how everything looks, as opposed to how it operates, that you're gonna have to have some leverage."

Sharon smirked at Brenda. "In other words, you don't say anything about this, then I won't say anything about something you did."

"Exactly. You know, I really don't like working that way, but with Russell Taylor, that's about how you have to handle it. He talks about the regulations, but you remember the Roger Stimple case? The one that little worm Goldman tried to get me on?"

Sharon nodded. "I do."

"O.K. Gabriel lost his cool with that perv in the interview room and smacked him around. He shouldn't have done it, obviously, but he got 10 days off without pay and a letter of reprimand in his file. Anyway, Pope was wanting his photo issued to the media, and if I wanted to keep what Gabriel did in the department, I couldn't let him see Stimple."

"So what happened?"

"Taylor offered to let Robbery/Homicide book him, and _he_ let the information slip that Stimple was in for child molestation. That's how we were able to keep David from getting in trouble with your division, and with Pope. The inmates beat the crap out of him in holding."

Sharon's mouth dropped open. "_Taylor_ did that? Why that weasel! He was protecting David, too."

"And his own skin, since he had personally recommended David for Priority Homicide, and considered himself David's mentor. Remember, Sharon. Russell Taylor always, _always _covers his own hide first." Brenda resumed eating.

Sharon sat back in her chair. "Wow. Andy said exactly the same thing this morning."

"Andy would know. He nearly got caught in the backlash, once."

"He told me about that."

Brenda nodded. "Yeah. So you really need some leverage. Now, I'd try reasoning with him, first. I know you can make the case that you're not showing Andy preferential treatment. You're both within shooting range of retirement. When you do retire, chances are, Pope will go to Hollywood or Central division to fill the position. I also figure that, if things work out between you – and I sure hope they do – that you'll both retire about the same time, so it won't even be an issue. You can also even tell him that one of you agrees to transfer if something happens and you can't work together because of it, or if he gets any reports that you're showing favoritism to Andy because of your relationship. I'd go that route, first. If he won't budge, go to your leverage."

Once more, Sharon was astonished at how quickly Brenda computed all the variables and came up with a solution. "That sounds like a plan." She looked at her watch. "I've got to get back. But it really was good to see you and I do appreciate your advice."

Brenda grinned at her. "Glad to help. Tell the folks hello for me. I miss them."

"I'll tell them. Have a good one."

"You do the same, Sharon."

* * *

As Sharon drove back to the station, she pondered on what kind of leverage might be available to use in case she needed it. She needed to pull Taylor's file.

She was doing just that in her office when Andy looked in on her. "Have a nice lunch with Brenda?" he asked.

She smiled. "I did. Got some good ideas, too. Put your thinking cap on and try to remember any time Taylor skirted the rules and got away with it, especially if Pope finding out about it would be detrimental to his career."

Andy grinned wickedly. "Sounds like blackmail to me," he chuckled. "I'll get right on that." He went back to his desk. Sykes was looking daggers at him, but he carefully ignored her.

Provenza leaned back in his chair. "I certainly hope this case is the last one we catch for a few days. I think we're due for a break."

Tao nodded in agreement. "I know I am. I am so behind on paperwork!" He turned back to his computer.

"Me too," Flynn said.

"Yeah, you've been busy, haven't you?" Sykes said, her tone nasty.

"Yep," was all Flynn answered. Sanchez looked at Sykes strangely.

"Sure have been," she retorted, and Sanchez nudged her with his elbow and shook his head. She snatched her arm away. "Stop it!" she hissed.

Provenza noticed the exchange. "What's eating you, Sykes?"

"Nothing, sir," she bit off.

"I know there is. Walk into the conference room with me."

"I have work to do."

"Sykes, don't make me give you a direct order," Provenza said, rising from his chair.

She stalked into the conference room. Flynn rolled his eyes and was very busy on his computer. He didn't want to know what would be said in there.

"All right, Sykes. Vent your spleen. Flynn do something to you?"

"I don't want to discuss it, sir," she answered.

"Then get over it! You are NOT going to disrupt this squad by acting like you're in high school!"

"I knew you'd take his side."

"If Flynn did something to you, Sykes, you need to tell me what it is, right now. If we need to handle it, then let's do it."

"I said I didn't want to discuss it."

Provenza narrowed his eyes at her. Then it dawned on him. Flynn had mentioned Sykes had come on to him and he'd told her no. Had she done it again? "Sykes, I'll say it again: get over it. Act like a professional, or we'll talk to Captain Raydor about it."

"I've got a lot to say to her, anyway."

"Don't push your luck with me, Detective. Go sit down and act like you wear a badge. I don't want to hear another word out of you."

Sykes glared at him.

"I am serious as a heart attack, Detective. Let this go. If Flynn's not interested in you, he's not interested! Let it go!"

"What makes you think that's what's going on?" she spluttered.

"Four ex-wives. I know a little about the female mind. Get it in gear and get back to work, all right?"

"Yes sir," she replied, sullen, and went back to her desk.

Provenza heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes and went for a cup of coffee, since he couldn't drink anything stronger while he was on the clock.

He met Flynn in the room, since Andy also wanted a cup. "Sykes is plenty pissed at you since you wouldn't go out with her. Usually, that happens to you _because_ you go out with a woman," Provenza deadpanned.

"Ha, ha. You're a riot," Flynn replied.

"Well, wonder of wonders, you've kept your mouth shut so I really can't even jump your case for anything. And that pisses _me_ off."

"Get your coffee and shut up, willya?" He went back to his desk.

* * *

Sharon, meanwhile, was poring over Taylor's personnel file, but found very little. She then started looking over his old cases, thankful someone had thought to digitally archive them. Then, she found it. In late 2002, a couple of years before Chief Johnson arrived, then-Captain Taylor was division head of Robbery/Homicide. They were on the trail of a serial rapist, copycatting Ramirez, the Night Stalker.

As she read, Sharon's eyes widened. Andy, then Sgt. Flynn, had submitted several surveillance reports detailing the movements of the prime suspect in the case. What was strange was that some of his comments had been blacked out. On the official record? Now, that was odd. She kept reading. Provenza was already a lieutenant then, and had submitted his own surveillance reports. His comments were also blacked out. Had Taylor done this, and what was he trying to hide?

Three murders later, the division finally arrested the prime suspect. Taylor's final report was full of praise for his division – and mostly himself. Sharon narrowed her eyes. She called DDA Hobbes.

"Andrea? Sharon Raydor. Can you pull the deposition records for the Son of Nightstalker murders from 2003 and 2004? I've got the case number. I'm particularly interested in the officer depositions and the court psychiatrist reports. Oh, really? _Really_? Now, isn't that interesting? E-mail them to me, could you please? Tomorrow? That will be fine. Thank you."

Sharon hung up the phone, intrigued. She texted Andy: "Possible leverage. Tell you tomorrow."

Andy looked at the message. What in the world had Sharon found?


	14. Chapter 14: Leverage When You Need It

**A/N:** Next chapter! Hope you're enjoying the story. Please, even though it's been a few days since an update, R&R! Thank you!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 14: Leverage When You Need It**

Raydor sent Flynn a text, asking him to be at work a little early. He arrived and went into her office. "What's all the cloak and dagger stuff, Sharon?"

"This," she said, handing him the folder concerning the old case.

Andy looked it over. "Oh yeah. The Caldera case. Night Stalker copycat. What about it?"

"Look at the surveillance notes."

Andy adjusted his reading glasses and looked them over. He saw the blacked-out portions. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

"My thoughts exactly. Do you still have your copies of these reports anywhere?"

"They should be in the file room. Wonder if someone thought to black those copies out, too?"

"I'd be interested in knowing that, myself," Sharon replied. "Andrea Hobbes had a courier send me the court files for this case. I was particularly interested in the officer depositions, but she told me the families of the girls who were killed are suing the city and the LAPD over this case. She sent those files, too."

"Suing us? What for?" Andy said.

"Lieutenant Verdad got the subpoena. So did Taylor. The lawsuit is because the girls' families say the LAPD dragged their feet about finding Caldera when he was still a serial rapist, before he turned serial killer. The case itself was filed in 2006, so that tells you how long it's been going on."

Andy sat back in his chair. "Wow. I had no idea. I mean, yeah, I knew it was Eli's case, but man. That was 10 years ago. Let me look at this file again." He read more and said, "I remember, now. There was maybe a month where we didn't hear anything from Caldera. He had people in Mexico, and we thought he might have skipped the country."

"According to the court documents, and Lieutenant Verdad's deposition, there was some kind of procedural error that kept Caldera from being arrested right away. You can read the deposition, but he implied that it came from over his head."

Andy narrowed his eyes as he cast back, piecing the case together in his memory. "Provenza and I helped on surveillance, but then we caught another case, and weren't directly involved after that. I do remember being deposed about it, but I couldn't tell them too much. What _was_ it about that case?" His brow furrowed, then cleared. "I know! I remember now! Provenza and I both saw Caldera getting rope out of his car. It looked like it was consistent with what was used on the rape victims. We called it in, but there was an issue with the search warrant and we couldn't nail him then. I guess we both thought Verdad followed up on it, but then Caldera skipped town."

"He did follow up, according to his reports," Sharon said. "He actually did arrest Caldera, but he was released about six hours later because he got an attorney who said the warrant wasn't good, and a judge agreed."

"So what happened to the warrant?" Andy asked.

"I'm not sure. If I had to guess, I'd say Taylor gave Verdad the go-ahead to search Caldera's home before the warrant was signed. Since there was no evidence of a crime being committed at that moment, naturally, the search was ruled invalid, since Verdad went in before the warrant was actually issued. That's what Verdad implied in his deposition, that he was under the impression the warrant was good."

"You know, he transferred out of that division right after we finally got Caldera for the murders."

"I'm surprised none of you heard about it."

"Well, that was right in the middle of all the Rampart crap, and I think we just figured it was an overzealous judge, so we moved on. So I'm thinking the upshot is that Taylor told Verdad to execute the search, knowing he didn't have a signed warrant. And because it wasn't a good search, everything he found was inadmissible. So Caldera walks and lives to kill three girls before we finally get him. Now, the families are suing the department and the city."

Sharon nodded. "That's about the size of it. And Pope wasn't assistant chief yet, so he probably never knew about it. The question remains though: what did Taylor redact out of those surveillance reports?"

"Probably that we saw Caldera carrying the rope. Only thing I can think of. See, if he blacks that out, then it makes Verdad look like a hot-headed cop, who had no reason to search the house. And Taylor's covered. We didn't keep procedural logs then, you know, about when the search order was given, who gave it and so on, so Taylor can say almost anything, with no proof either way."

Sharon grimaced. "Assuming the city doesn't settle with the families and it all ever sees a courtroom. But it makes me physically ill to think that he would allow another officer's professional reputation to be ruined like that."

"Power corrupts," Andy replied. "He was a hell of a lot easier to deal with when he was Commander Taylor and didn't even have an office to call his own."

"Well, Brenda suggested getting some leverage. I didn't expect this, though. It really makes approaching him even more complicated. Leverage is one thing, but ending a career is another."

"He'd end Verdad's career in a heartbeat to save his own skin."

"I realize that, but I've always prided myself on being a little better than that."

Andy grinned at her. "Me too. I guess. But mostly what we've got here is speculation. The only thing we can mention to Taylor is the blacked-out reports, and he'll deny doing it. He might even say Eli did it. I mean, I can pretty much piece together how it went down, but it's just speculation on my part. Except for my deposition, where I know I said I saw Caldera with the rope."

"But it's not backed up by the surveillance reports."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised they're even still in there and Taylor didn't make sure they disappeared."

Sharon chuckled. "They're part of the digital file. And again, we can't prove Taylor blacked out the reports. I didn't see anything like that in any other old cases, so it's not like he's done it repeatedly, which would demonstrate a pattern."

"I know it's totally out of character for me, but I'm going to try to be an optimist and hope you won't even have to mention this to him when you tell him about us."

"It's out of character for both of us, but I'm hoping the same thing. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I started feeling unsettled about it. It's not ethical to use something like this to keep a superior officer quiet about what we're doing. I mean, really, it's blackmail. Which is also illegal."

Andy sighed. "You're right. I'd end up having to make amends for it, and I really don't want to do that. I'll say this, though: if it does all come down like the wrath of God in a courtroom, I'd rather find out this way, in case someone does subpoena me to testify."

"Oh, I know. You know, Andy, I used to find the rule-bending in this division to be exasperating. It still is sometimes, but it finally occurred to me that the reason you all did it is because you wanted justice for your victims. Taylor does it to save his own skin. It's despicable."

"So now that we know about this, what do we do?" Andy said.

"Well, it's damning evidence. It would guarantee a win for the families. However, Lieutenant Verdad is in another department and the case may never go to trial. And, since I'm not in IA any longer, I'm not _obligated_ to tell Chief Pope about it."

"If anything comes up and it does go to trial, you can always say Hobbes asked you to pull the case files and look them over for procedural issues. Happens all the time," Andy suggested.

"As much as I'd hate to lie about it, yes, I could say that."

Andy sighed. "Brenda has one of her sayings that applies here: 'give him enough rope and he'll hang himself.' She said it all the time about Taylor."

"It's appropriate. By the way, she was thrilled to hear about us, and very sorry to hear about your relapse. I hope you don't mind that I told her."

"Nah. I'd have done it myself if I'd seen her. Not something I want on the front page, but not like I'm hiding anything, either," he replied.

"I saw Provenza take Sykes into the conference room and I could tell they were exchanging words. What happened?"

Andy shrugged. "She was still pissed and was acting like a teenager. I guess he told her to knock it off."

"She'd _better_ knock it off. Even if we weren't dating, I wouldn't tolerate that kind of adolescent behavior! I don't take it from Rusty, and certainly won't from someone twice his age."

He grinned. "You know, it's weird. She is stone cold professional in the field. Completely solid."

"And not so solid in the squadroom. Which is odd, considering she was in Afghanistan. I assume she's been in combat."

"I think it's the whole discipline thing. The military is really structured. So is the academy and being a rookie. You have to follow procedure. We do too, but it's more relaxed. It's not as regimented," Andy replied.

"Hopefully, a little more time in this division will help her settle down."

"Yeah, hopefully. So when are you gonna tell Taylor?"

Sharon sighed. "Today, I suppose. I'm scheduled to meet with him anyway."

The blinds in her office were closed against the too-bright morning sun, so Andy leaned over her desk to kiss her. "Good luck," he said.

"Thanks. I'm going to need it."

* * *

Assistant Chief Russell Taylor was going about his usual business of reminding Raydor of how much the LAPD was spending on trials, and that plea-bargaining was the order of the day whenever possible, that overtime was strongly discouraged, that her officers needed to carpool to reduce gasoline costs – in short, every reminder Raydor had heard ever since her transfer to Major Crimes. Still, she maintained an expression of polite interest.

"Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?" Taylor said.

"As it happens, there is, Chief Taylor." Sharon took a breath. "It's of a more personal nature, but I think it can be worked out."

Taylor immediately looked wary. "And what is this personal matter?"

"It's a relationship issue within the division."

"A relationship issue?" Taylor looked confused. Tao was happily married, Provenza was keeping company with Liz, his first ex-wife, and Flynn was a confirmed bachelor, which left, "Sykes and Sanchez are seeing each other?" he asked. That wasn't a problem unless they broke up and it got nasty. And if Raydor knew about it, why was she telling him?

"No, they're not dating, Chief," she said.

So that left one option. "Is this about a relationship _you're_ in, Captain?"

"Yes."

"And why do you need to let me know about it?"

"Well, Chief, because it's not strictly in accordance with the LAPD handbook." Taylor's brows knit together and his expression darkened, but having gone this far, Raydor soldiered on. "I've been seeing Lieutenant Flynn and I felt that, since it could become long-term, that you needed to know."

To her astonishment, Taylor began to chuckle. "That's a good one, Captain. That's funny. You even had me believing it for a minute! You and Andy Flynn!" He continued to laugh.

Raydor sighed. "I'm serious, Chief. We are dating. And I didn't want you caught unawares."

The chuckling stopped. "Captain, you are as well acquainted with the handbook as any officer in the department. You know what it says about subordinates and superiors dating. How did this happen?"

She sent up a silent prayer for the right words. "Chief Taylor, Lieutenant Flynn and I have both been alone for a long time. My estranged husband has finally filed for a divorce, and as you know, the lieutenant has been divorced for many years. We're about the same age. We're both police officers and we understand the demands of the job. He is a lieutenant, so it's not as if there's a huge rank gap. We're both ranking officers. And, as surprising as I know it sounds, we've found we're actually very compatible. We understand the potential for problems, but we're both quite willing to do whatever is necessary to make certain our relationship in no way conflicts with our jobs. I have no problem keeping it separate, and neither does Lieutenant Flynn." Sharon was careful to use rank only, since she thought using first names would rub the assistant Chief the wrong way.

"How long has this been going on?" he said, his tone neutral.

"Only since the charity softball game. Just a few weeks. We've been very discreet and held off telling anyone until we felt there was something to tell. We haven't been hiding anything from you."

Taylor leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I'm surprised at you, Captain. I would have thought you'd have more control over yourself than to allow yourself to become involved with a subordinate. And I honestly have to question your sanity since the officer in question is Andy Flynn. He's had his problems, as you well know."

"I do know, and he's worked to overcome them. Surely, that counts for something." He hadn't told them to stop seeing each other yet, or exploded, both of which were good signs.

"It does, Captain. It does. And just what do you plan to do if any of these – problems – should resurface?" His gaze was assessing. Raydor knew he was running through all the possible options in his mind. He was deciding if their relationship would harm his career ambitions.

Raydor replied, "I guarantee you I'll handle it just as I would with any other member of my division. If the problems are between us, we'll handle it outside the office. If they can't be handled, Lieutenant Flynn has already agreed he will transfer to another division to avoid conflict."

"I thought we'd seen the end of these kinds of issues when Chief Johnson left the department. But since you've been with Major Crimes, Captain, you've become a little too much like your colleagues for my comfort. You wouldn't have tolerated this when you were in Internal Affairs." He was still playing his little mind games with her and she wasn't sure where he stood on the issue.

"Being in Internal Affairs requires a different mindset, Chief Taylor. Homicide is a more – fluid – area by its very nature. I've had to adopt some of that fluidity to solve cases. We're still closing cases left and right, and we're making deals and saving taxpayer dollars." Mentioning the division's success rate was always a good way to demonstrate her ability.

Taylor tapped one finger on his desk for a moment. Raydor pulled her ice queen armor around her and projected a cool, calm facade. She didn't want to appear unprofessional or anxious for even a moment.

"Well Captain, this is completely against regulations and you know it. However, you did tell me about it, which does speak well of your integrity."

_Integrity. As if he knew anything about __**that**_, she thought, but kept her face expressionless.

"Plus, I suspect if I told you and Flynn to shut down the relationship, you'd sneak around anyway. So, even though it seriously goes against my better judgment, I'll take a wait and see approach – as long as I don't see it in the department, and don't have any complaints of favoritism. But you're walking a very, very, very thin line Captain. Remember that."

"I certainly will, Chief Taylor. I appreciate your understanding and willingness to work with us on this."

"Remember Captain. I'm keeping an eye on this."

"Absolutely," she replied, standing and giving him a pleasant smile. She left the office.

Taylor sat for a moment. He still couldn't believe Raydor and Flynn would get within ten feet of each other voluntarily. However, he now had leverage. If she wouldn't work with him on something, he could always threaten to go to Chief Pope with the information about them.

As Sharon stood in the elevator going to the ninth floor, the same thing occurred to her. Well, her advantage was that she knew about Taylor's leverage. He didn't know about hers – and hers was far more damaging than a relationship between two ranking officers of a similar age. Taylor always needed to remember that the former head of IA knew how to find out information.

* * *

"How did it go?" Andy texted Sharon.

"Tell you tonight. Rusty's with a friend," she sent back.

"Bring my toothbrush?" was his reply. All he got back was a smiley icon, which made him smile in turn. A few minutes later, another text: "Let's go to that Italian place again."

"OK. Meet you there." That was safer.

At the restaurant, Sharon ate an enormous serving of lasagna. "I've been too nervous to eat all day," she said apologetically.

"Fine with me," Andy replied, with a squeeze on her thigh. "I like curves."

She looked darkly at him. "Are you implying I have fat thighs?"

"God, no! I'm saying I like knowing I'm holding a woman." Here, he grazed her ear with his lips. "And you are all woman, sweetheart."

Heat flooded Sharon when he said that. She still hadn't determined quite how he managed to get her all hot and bothered with something as simple as a touch.

"But you _will_ have to brush your teeth to get the garlic out," he teased.

"I should knock you into the middle of next week," she shot back.

"Probably," he agreed cheerfully.

In any event, by the time Andy got to Sharon's place, she had brushed her teeth and had homemade hot cocoa simmering on the stove. Even if it never really got cold enough in Southern California to really enjoy it, she still liked it.

When Andy came in, she heard the "thump" of his backpack on the bedroom floor. "Hot cocoa on the stove," she said from the sofa, where she had put her feet up on the ottoman.

"Thanks, babe," he said and poured the rest of the pan's contents into a mug. He turned off the burner and sank into the sofa next to her. "Good stuff," he said, sipping the drink.

"Thank you. I guess you're wondering what happened with Taylor."

"Well, yeah. But you're not totally pissed off, so I'm assuming it's O.K."

She gave a small chuckle. "More or less. He has leverage in that he won't tell Pope as long as we behave ourselves, and presumably, as long as I play nice. However, I have much better leverage, and it's a career ender, not a trip to the ethics board. And he doesn't know about mine. I still have the tactical advantage, and he thinks he does, which is even more of an advantage for me."

"Devious," Andy replied.

"I had no idea how much until I started mixing it up with this crowd. It's a snake pit," she sighed.

"Politics. That's why. If we could just be left alone to do our jobs, it would be fine." He stretched and shook his head. "But because it's Major Crimes, elite, high-profile cases, we're under the microscope, which means politics. I hate it. I joined the LAPD to fight the bad guys. I didn't know they were the people I'm working for." He snorted.

"How many years have you been working homicides?"

He thought. "Nearly 20."

"I'm sure it's extremely difficult not to be cynical when you've been in it that long. Why homicide, Andy?"

He shrugged. "As gruesome as it sounds, I'm good at it. You catch the really bad guys. If you're lucky."

She snuggled against him. "You are good at it. I guess the girl on the scooter was the worst, though."

"So far, and I hope it never gets worse than that," he answered. "Sharon, if you had seen her lying on the pavement, bleeding from her skull. Such a pretty girl. Her whole life was in front of her. And it was the police commissioner's wife, for God's sake! I tried to you know, present recovery to her as a good thing, but I really wanted to choke the life out of her in front of Gracie's parents, so they would know she paid for what she did. I think that's partly why I relapsed. I hated Gail Meyers so much. I wanted her to die slowly, painfully, for what she did to that girl. Every time I thought about her getting just manslaughter for that, it made me want to puke. It's the ones who can afford to get help and don't who get me. And AA is free, for God's sake!" He shook himself. "I can't do this. I pray the resentment prayer for that woman every day."

Sharon's brow wrinkled. "What's the resentment prayer? John thought he was too good for AA and I thought I was too good for Al-Anon," she said ruefully.

Andy smiled. "It's when you ask your Higher Power to give every good thing you want for yourself to the person you resent."

Her eyes widened. "Pray for your enemies?"

"Something like that."

"It's not easy."

Andy shook his head slowly. "Nope. Never. And it's really hard when it's something like this, when everyone you know would say your resentment and anger are justified. But I'm a drunk, so I can't do that for long."

Sharon reached up to kiss his cheek. "Andy, I admire you so much for not letting your relapse derail you. You're brave."

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Brave? No. I'm not brave. Stubborn, maybe. I'm just too damned stubborn to let the booze win again."

"Call it what you want. I'm glad you've got it."

Andy smiled and drew Sharon close. "I haven't kissed you in a few days. I missed it." His mouth took hers and as always, she fairly melted into his kiss. She curled her fingers in his thick hair and stroked the nape of his neck.

He lowered her to the sofa, and dragged soft nips and kisses over her throat and neck. She put her head back to allow him access and thought about how she loved having his body next to hers. He was security and freedom and desire and wanting and needing. Being in his arms was like being a pool of warm caramel. She felt his hands underneath her sweater and she obligingly slipped it off for him.

"You're not wearing a bra," he growled in her ear. "Bad girl." The words sent fire streaking down Sharon's spine, but she could only moan in response. She plucked at the buttons on his shirt, and it disappeared, then his T-shirt was gone and his bare skin was against hers. She wished they could crawl inside each other, to be as close as she wanted to be.

Andy wanted her right then, but knew from experience that sofas meant a morning after with his back killing him. So he lifted himself from her, handed her up from the sofa and backed her into the bedroom, kissing her as they went. It was so easy to let himself go with her. By the time they got to the bed, he was getting out of his jeans and shorts as quickly as he could. He felt 19 again, with lust and hormones simmering in his blood. He couldn't remember the last time he had dated a woman who provoked the same kind of reaction.

"Get that underwear off now or it's coming off the hard way," he said as Sharon shimmied out of her yoga pants. She started sliding the panties down her hips and kicked them away.

Andy stood for a moment, just looking at her, his eyes black in the dim lamplight. With her porcelain skin and auburn hair, she looked fragile, but he knew she was anything but.

Sharon drank in the sight of Andy's body – hard, sturdy, sexy. No, not perfect, but so very desirable. He was a fully matured _man _and he made her heart beat out of rhythm. Then, he was beside her, kissing her, his mouth moving down to her nipples, one hand to her center where he stroked her, one finger slipping inside her. She arched off the bed and moaned loudly when he added another finger, moving them in a steady rhythm that had her clutching the sheet. The whole time, Andy was whispering in her ear, whispering darkly erotic descriptions of what he was doing, how she felt, what he wanted her to do.

"I want you. We've got all night and I'm gonna make you scream for me. You're not gonna be able to walk in the morning." That statement he followed up with a wicked chuckle and a nibble on her ear. "Start it right for me. Come for me. Come hard, Sharon. I want to feel you come with my fingers inside you. You want to." He mouthed her earlobe, his voice, thick with desire, whispering ever more X-rated commands to her. Sharon had always thought "talking dirty" was a little juvenile – until it was Andy's voice, his mouth on her ear and neck, his fingers inside her, his body beside her, his accent gone to its roughest Jersey, making her writhe, depending on his hands, his voice, his mouth to bring her to climax.

"You need it, Sharon. Come for me," he said, feeling the first flutters. She was close. "Now, Sharon. Come _now_," he rasped as she arched against him helplessly, her body spasming in orgasm. She retained just enough consciousness to see him through half-closed eyes, his face changing as he could feel her climax. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, until the storm passed.

She went limp and opened her eyes fully, to feel him remove his fingers and see him lick her moisture from them. She closed her eyes again and Andy leveled himself above her and slid into her body with a groan. His thrusts were powerful, and before long, he cried himself spent and collapsed beside her. He gathered her to his chest and kissed her hair, as she pressed herself against him.

"That was too damn good," he said, laughter in his voice. "Who knew the ice queen of the LAPD was one hot sex machine?" he teased, running his hands down her body.

"You're horrible, Andy."

"Sure am. And you wouldn't have it any other way."

"Probably not," she agreed. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're incorrigible."

"Oh, no doubt. So much that I'm sayin' let's catch a few winks and I'll make you scream again."

"You're welcome to make the effort," she said drowsily.

Andy pulled the sheet up over them and they fell into sated sleep in each other's arms.

* * *

An insistent ringing woke Sharon out of a sound sleep. She untangled herself from Andy's arms and grabbed her cell phone. "Raydor," she said sleepily.

"Sorry to wake you, Captain," Lieutenant Tao said, "But we've got a body."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll be there as soon as I can. Text me the address, will you?"

"Sure, Captain," he answered.

Sharon rolled over. "Andy, wake up. We've got a body." She nudged his side gently.

Andy turned his face into the pillow. "Shit. What time is it?"

Sharon peered at her clock. "4:15."

"Shit," he repeated. "We're too old for this."

She sighed. "I think I agree with you. Still, nothing for it. At least I've got two bathrooms." Andy's phone rang. "Probably Tao," she said.

Andy answered the phone and listened to Tao. "Send me the address. Let me get showered and a cup of coffee down my throat."

"We don't need to arrive at the same time," Sharon said.

Andy looked at the address and did some mental calculations. "You live closer. You leave, then I'll wait ten minutes and I'll leave. Remember to send Rusty a text or leave him a note or something."

"I will."

Sharon was standing by the door, and Andy gave her a lingering kiss. "We'll pick up where we left off at some point," he said.

"I hope so. Sometimes, it seems like the fates are conspiring against us," she answered, bringing his lips to hers again.

"Yeah. I'll see you there."

Sharon drove to the address in the Hollywood Hills and sighed. The victim must be someone high profile, or Hollywood Division would be handling this. A police officer waved her through a gate into a subdivision of mcmansions. Just what they needed: two deaths in the entertainment community in as many weeks. She pulled up to the home in question and Tao met her at her car. "Good morning, Captain Raydor. Lieutenant Flynn is on his way."

"Fine, Mike. What's going on?" She exited her car and Tao took in the sight of his captain, dressed neatly, but casually in yoga pants and a purple hoodie, her hair in a ponytail, fashionable sneakers on her feet.

"Oh, um, sure. 911 call at 3:45 from a friend of the deceased, who is now our primary person of interest. Our vic is David Silverman, also known as Silver Dog, lead singer with the band Screwdriver." He raised his eyebrows and Sharon's eyes widened.

"Silver Dog? Really?"

"You're familiar with the band, Captain?"

Sharon made a wry face. "I shouldn't admit to this, but I probably saw them 15 times. I was a major fan. Long, long time ago."

Tao grinned at her. "Hey, we were all teenagers once. Anyway, he was found dead at the scene, with finger marks around his neck."

Sharon nodded at Tao. "And what about our suspect?"

"Well, since you're a fan, you probably know him, too. Michael Curillo, aka..."

"Curly Mike," Sharon finished for him. "The drummer. If I recall my Screwdriver lore correctly, Curillo left the band under a cloud back in, oh, '83 or so. Has he said anything?"

Tao shook his head. "Just that the victim called him about 3 a.m. and asked him to come to the house. He said Silverman was dead when he got there and he called 911. Curillo lives in Pasadena, so that's about the right travel time. I've got a warrant in the works to dump his cell phone."

Sharon walked up the driveway to the house. Provenza was waiting on her. "Captain, coroner says cause of death was almost certainly strangulation."

She nodded as she put the shoe covers on her sneakers and went to examine the body. David Silverman was not a small man. "Would you say he's about 6'1, Lieutenant Provenza?" Sharon asked.

"Easily. And maybe 200 pounds. He's probably about Flynn's or Tao's size."

"That's what I was thinking. And our suspect?"

Provenza shrugged. "Little taller than I am. 5'9 or so. Maybe 175 pounds soaking wet."

"One would think the size disparity would give the physical advantage to our victim," Sharon mused. "It would be difficult to force a man that size down and strangle him."

Provenza shrugged. "Yeah, but fueled by rage, who knows? Curillo isn't saying much."

"Has SID finished?"

"Just about. There's not too much to see. No signs of a struggle, which, considering how Silverman died, is kind of weird. You'd think a fight like that would have knocked over some stuff."

"All right. We'll reconvene in the murder room, then. Call Lieutenant Flynn, would you, and let him know so he can meet us there rather than making an unnecessary trip? With the price of gas these days, we need to conserve where we can."

"Sure, Captain," Provenza answered.

* * *

In the electronics room, Sharon was watching the preliminaries. Tao and Provenza were in the interview room with Michael Curillo and an SID photographer. He removed his shirt so they could look for any recent wounds and Sharon was struck by his muscular arms. Well, he was a drummer, so that made sense. She felt a little thrill. When she was going to see the band in concert, it was always Curly Mike who made her heart skip a beat. He was always the most articulate in interviews, soft-spoken, with big brown eyes and a smile that always seemed sincere. She'd actually met him outside the San Diego Sports Arena once, and he had signed a magazine for her. He had been sweet and funny. He seemed so genuine. His singing voice reminded her of Rod Stewart – a little gravelly. His lead vocals on a couple of ballads never failed to make her dreamy-eyed. As he talked, his accent was oddly familiar. She remembered he was from New Jersey, like Andy. She smiled to herself. There had been a time when she could have recited the vital stats for every member of that band.

"Captain?" It was Andy.

She turned. "Lieutenant. Did Sanchez fill you in?"

"Yeah. Has he said anything?"

"Just that our victim was dead when he got to the house, and he called 911. That's been pretty much it."

Andy nodded. "Wow."

There was a quality in his voice that made Sharon look at her lieutenant. "What's up, Andy?"

He sighed heavily. "I can't believe he would do something like this. He's a good guy. Been through a hell of a lot. I didn't know about him being the ex-drummer for Screwdriver, just that he was a drummer by profession."

Sharon stared at Andy. "You _know_ the suspect?"

Andy grimaced. "Well, in a murder investigation, I guess anonymity goes out the window. Mike Curillo is in my AA group."


	15. Chapter 15: Out in Left Field

**A/N:** Hope you all are still liking the story. Please R&R! It is always appreciated!

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Out in Left Field**

Raydor and Flynn sat in the electronics room while Glenn, Buzz's weekend replacement, filmed Tao and Provenza checking Michael Curillo for wounds and other marks. They instructed him to put his shirt back on and left the room.

Raydor felt the moments when suspects were alone were sometimes the most instructive. She watched Curillo, but all he did was button his shirt and sit in the chair, elbows on the metal table. Provenza came into electronics. "He's all yours, Chief."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I want to observe him for a minute or two."

As she watched, Curillo reached into his pocket and took out a small Rosary. He crossed himself and started the prayers. Raydor raised his eyebrows. "That was unexpected," she said.

"Yeah, Mike has a deep faith," was Andy's reply.

"You _know _this guy?" Provenza asked.

"AA," he answered and his partner nodded. "Same old story," Andy continued. "Sex, drugs and rock and roll. He had a pretty nasty blow habit, but kicked that, along with the booze. He's been clean at least ten years."

"And you didn't know he was with Screwdriver?" Raydor said.

"Nah. Never was my kind of band, and he never said. Just said he played in a rock band for a long time. Trouble is, from what he said about how the lead singer – our vic – and the lead guitarist treated him, it could be construed as motive. He had to sue them to pay him for the last six months he was with the band, plus his royalties from album sales, and even to get his name in the liner notes for the last album he did with them. It was really, really bad. But that's been nearly 30 years ago. He said he had made his peace with the guys. I believed him," Andy explained.

Raydor had been tapping her foot as she watched her suspect. "All right. Let's go talk to him. See what he's willing to tell us."

She motioned to Sanchez at his desk and he joined her in the interview room. "Hello, Mr. Curillo. I'm Captain Sharon Raydor, Major Crimes," she said as she seated herself. "This is Detective Sanchez."

"Detective," he acknowledged Sanchez and then kissed his Rosary, crossed himself again and put it in his pocket. When he did this, he looked up at Sharon and his eyes lit up. "Captain. Nice to meet you. I figured I was gonna be questioned by the guys who took all the photos. Had no idea it would be by a beautiful, green-eyed lady captain." He smiled.

In spite of herself, Sharon's heart did a little flip-flop when Curillo smiled at her. After all, she'd harbored a crush for the man for years, even after he left the band. And he still looked good. He had a little gray in his hair, a few lines around his eyes, but those eyes were clear and they twinkled at her just like Andy's did. She shook herself mentally.

"Thank you, Mr. Curillo, but let's get to the heart of the matter, shall we? Tell me what happened tonight."

He shrugged. Andy, watching in electronics, could feel anger and jealousy rising. He saw Curillo's smile, and he saw Sharon's reaction.

"Captain said she was a big Screwdriver fan back in the day," Glenn said, all unaware of Andy glowering at the screen.

Andy exhaled, feeling a little foolish. So it was a little schoolgirl crush thing come back. No big deal. "Is that so?" he answered.

In the interview room, Curillo said, "Well, Captain, my phone rang about 3 a.m. I saw it was Dave."

"Isn't that a little late for a phone call?" Raydor asked.

"Not when you're a musician. But I don't keep such late hours anymore, and I'd gone to bed. Anyway, Dave said he wanted to see me, needed to talk, that kind of thing. He sounded pretty drunk. I've been trying to get him to try AA, but hadn't been able to. I thought maybe I could talk him into going to a meeting, so I went over there. I knew something was wrong when I got there, though. The front door was open and I could see him lying in the floor. I called 911 right then and ran over to him. I checked for a pulse, but couldn't get one."

"How did you know how to check for a pulse?" Sanchez asked.

Curillo smiled a little sadly. "Detective, when you're in a rock band and you see people all the time who might OD, you learn to check for a pulse."

"Go on, Mr. Curillo," Raydor said.

"O.K. So, I waited at the front door until the EMTs and the cops got there. They asked me a couple of questions and here I am. I can understand why I'm first on the list as a suspect, but I didn't do it."

"Did you think it was murder?" Raydor asked.

"Well, as much of a security nut as Dave is, I figured someone must have either broken in, or he let them in. I thought he might have passed out in the middle of the floor. Wouldn't be the first time, but the open door? I don't know. It was that way when I got there. I heard one of the people say he was strangled? Holy Jesus."

"Bare handed, and Mr. Curillo, as a working drummer, I presume you have the upper body strength to do it," Raydor said.

"I might, but there's no way I could have kept Dave on the floor that long, let alone knocked him down to start with. He outweighs me by a good 50 pounds."

Raydor sniffed. "I can think of any number of ways you could have accomplished it, if you were sufficiently motivated."

"And 30 years ago, I might have agreed with you, but I didn't want to kill Dave. We had a lot of bad blood between us, yes, but I made the conscious choice to forgive him. I had to if I wanted to stay sober." His tone was sincere and Raydor wanted to believe him.

"That's something else. My lieutenant, Andy Flynn, told me you are in his AA group. He didn't want to break your anonymity, but as he said, it's a murder investigation."

"No problem. I know he had to tell you."

"So, if you didn't kill David Silverman, do you have any idea who might have? Bare-handed strangulation is a very personal sort of crime. It says there's a lot of hate involved."

Curillo shrugged. "Dave's made a lot of enemies the past several years. It could be a lot of people. Lots of people have reasons to hate him."

"But who has the mind of a murderer?" Raydor pressed.

"I don't know. As God is my witness, I hate to say it, but you'd better start looking at the other two guys in Screwdriver, Mac Freeman and Keith Torres. Dave and Mac weren't getting along recently, and I think it was money-related. With Dave though, it always was. I guess it's speaking ill of the dead, but Dave Silverman was a greedy prick. He liked money, and never was satisfied with what he had."

"So you think this was over money," Sanchez said.

"Either that or a woman. Dave never was really particular about whether a woman was in a relationship or not. Even married ones." Curillo shook his head. "You wouldn't believe how many times a jealous husband knocked down _my_ hotel room door, looking for Dave. He just didn't care. He was Mr. Golden Rock God and that was excuse enough for him to take whatever he wanted."

"You're sure there's no resentment, Mr. Curillo?" Raydor asked.

"No, really, there's not. But like my friend Andy said, it's a murder investigation. You need to know what I know. And that's what I know. I'm not saying Dave was some kind of monster. He wasn't. But he bought in to the whole fame thing. He drank too much and he was his own worst enemy."

"I see. So, if I recall correctly, Mr. Freeman and Mr. Torres are both original members of the band?" Raydor said.

"Yeah," Curillo answered, then looked at Sharon. "You're a fan, aren't you?" He grinned.

In the electronics room, Tao snickered. "Busted."

Andy started to chuckle too, until he saw Sharon blush scarlet. Blush? This guy made her _blush_? Suddenly, it wasn't quite so funny anymore. Glenn saw Andy's eyes widen in anger and wondered what was up, but he turned his attention back to the screens.

"Well yes, I did listen to your band, I admit."

"I don't see a ring on your finger. When you guys cut me loose, I'd love to take you to dinner. Ever been out with a drummer before?" His grin had turned wolfish.

Andy's eyes narrowed and he could feel little hot tweezers picking at his brain. He took a deep breath. Mike Curillo was a good guy, and in his AA group. He had no idea Andy and Sharon were in a relationship.

"Mr. Curillo, as much as I appreciate the invitation, you're still my prime person of interest in a murder case. You really should be focusing on that." Raydor's tone was solid ice. Inside, though, she was a little quivery. Mike Curillo had called her beautiful and asked her out! In spite of the circumstances, it had been a not bad morning.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. I've always had a real weakness for green eyes."

"Shut up," Sanchez growled, defending his Captain's honor.

Curillo glanced at him. "Keep your shirt on, Detective. I know what 'no thank you' means. But really, seriously, Captain, I've told you everything I can think of. Hold me or don't. It's your decision."

Tao had left electronics, then went back to the interview room and called Raydor outside. "Captain, we have the cell phone records. Looks like the call from the vic came to Curillo's phone at 3:01. He was in Pasadena. Silverman called again at 3:16. Curillo was on the 205 and didn't pick up. The 911 call from Curillo's phone came in at 3:41. Curillo didn't have time to kill Silverman. There's just no way. He would had to have gotten there by 3:30 at the latest to kill him. I don't see it, Captain. I really don't."

Raydor nodded. "I think I may agree with you, Mike. So, look at our vic's cell phone records and see if we can match up any other calls he made to anyone who might want to kill him."

"Will do. Mind if I make a Starbuck's run first?"

She smiled. "Of course not. Pick up some doughnuts or something too, would you?"

"Sure thing."

Raydor went back into the interview room. "Looks like your cell phone records back up your story, Mr. Curillo. You're free to go, but don't go too far. Stay in the Pasadena area, why don't you?"

"Nowhere else to go, Captain," Curillo answered. "And that invitation is good any time you want to take me up on it. You'll know where to find me."

"Thank you just the same. Detective Sanchez will see you out," Raydor said, holding the door open.

With a resigned smile, Curillo left the room and turned to Sanchez. "You guys got a men's room around here?" Sanchez pointed down the hall. "Thanks, man." He went into the room and ran into Andy, who was washing his hands. "Andy. Man, can you believe this?" he said.

"No, I can't. I know you'd never do anything like that."

"Thanks. Nice to have one vote of confidence, anyway. And brother! What about that Captain? _Damn_! I thought the LAPD made a point of hiring hatchet-faced broads who make you wonder if there's really a set of balls under their holsters. Never thought I'd see a gorgeous chick like that in the department. And class! You can see it a mile away. She shot me down, but I'd have been a fool not to try."

"Yeah," Andy nodded.

Curillo folded his arms and looked into Andy's face. "What's up?" Comprehension dawned. "You two are seeing each other, aren't you? She's the woman you mentioned in the meetings, right?"

Another nod. Curillo shook his head ruefully. "Shit, Andy. I'm sorry. I had no idea. If I'd known, you know I never would have said a word to her. You know that."

"I know, Mike. It's cool. No way you could have known. We've been keeping it on the down low in the department," Andy answered. He did know and honestly didn't hold it against Curillo.

"I understand, and I am sorry. But you've got to admit it, Andy. She is one sexy lady. And I'm not so old I can't still appreciate a beautiful woman."

Andy grinned at his friend. "Yeah. She is sexy. I agree with you. But listen, if you think of anything that could help us find out who did this to Silverman, we'd all appreciate it."

"I spilled my guts to the Captain, but if I think of anything, I'll let you know."

They shook hands and Andy went back to his desk.

Raydor was watching Provenza update the murder board. "My suggestion would be to get Freeman's and Torres' cell numbers and see if we get a match on anything the vic dialed," Flynn said as he went to his desk.

"Julio is doing that now," Raydor answered. "As soon as people have time to be awake, would you and Lieutenant Provenza go back to the neighborhood and start talking to people? As soon as Mike gets back, I'll have him start looking on the security camera footage and see what he can find on it."

"Sure, Captain," Flynn replied. "Meanwhile, let's see what Freeman and Torres have been up to." He started running backgrounds on the two men. "Well, here we go," he said.

"What did you come up with, Lieutenant?" Raydor asked.

"Well, Keith Torres has been a pretty good boy lately. He was stopped nine years ago for DUI, but nothing since then. Mac Freeman, on the other hand..." his voice trailed off, and he turned his monitor so Raydor could see it.

"Good Lord. Let's see. Three DUIs in the past two years, with license revoked for two years, a dozen charges for public intoxication, disorderly conduct, assault, resisting arrest, you name it. Obviously, Mr. Freeman has problems." She peered at his vital stats. "6'2, 225 pounds. He's big enough."

"We called him 'Attack Mac' for a reason," Mike Curillo said, as he walked by Flynn's desk on his way out.

"Attack Mac?" Flynn echoed.

"Yeah. Mac was always kind of unpredictable. You never knew quite what was going to set him off." He looked around. "I'm leaving, but you said if I thought of anything helpful..."

"No problem, Mike," Flynn answered. "Thanks for the tip. What was Mac's stage name, anyway?"

Curillo grinned. "Free Bird. The guys in Lynyrd Skynyrd hated it, but it wasn't in reference to the song, so they couldn't do too much about it. Keith's stage name was Toreador. Classiest name of the bunch, for sure. They called me Curly Mike because we were in Florida and the humidity was hellish and my hair just went into these corkscrew curls. It was ridiculous." Sharon was standing near Flynn, but Curillo made an effort not to smile at her or even meet her eyes. She was not available.

Andy chuckled. "Well, that's one way to get a stage name. Have Freeman or Torres been in contact with you lately?"

Curillo thought a moment. "I talked to Keith, oh, maybe a couple of months ago. He was having trouble with his girlfriend, but it's been a year since I talked to Mac, I guess. I don't hear from him nearly as often since I quit drinking."

Andy nodded in understanding. "All right. Well, like I said, if you think of anything else, call me."

"Will do," he said, and nodding at the crew, left the murder room.

* * *

"Hey Captain, I think I've found something on the vic's cell records," Sanchez said.

"O.K. Let's hear it," Raydor replied.

"Looks like Silverman called all the old band members last night. He called Mac Freeman about 2 a.m. and Keith Torres about 2:15, and again at 2:55. Then he calls Curillo at 3 a.m. And Freeman and Torres both live within easy driving distance of Silverman's house."

"All right. Lieutenant Flynn, you and Lieutenant Provenza go see Mr. Torres. Detective Sanchez and Lieutenant Tao will pay a visit to Mr. Freeman, when Mike gets back with that coffee and those doughnuts."

When Tao returned, he had been to Starbuck's to get a large container of coffee. The crew pitched in a few dollars to offset the costs, and fell to on the coffee and the doughnuts.

"I wonder what police officers did before doughnuts were widely available?" Raydor mused.

"Their wives packed them a dinner pail," Provenza replied.

"You remember those days, do you, sir?" Sanchez teased, which earned him a dirty look from Provenza.

"Watch it, Julio," was all Provenza said, but Sanchez grinned widely.

Flynn took a long pull from his coffee cup, stood, and brushed the crumbs off his pants. "C'mon, old man. Let's go talk to this Torres guy," he said.

"Do NOT call me 'old man,' Flynn. I'll give you 'old man'!" Provenza groused.

"You give me 'old man' all the time. I'm used to it. Tell me you'll give me 'young man.' Then I might get scared." The crew snickered at his calm comeback.

"Go to hell, Flynn. I swear to God, one of these days..." Provenza's voice trailed off ominously.

"If you haven't yet, you're not going to," Flynn answered. "Let's get outta here."

* * *

A housekeeper answered the door at Keith Torres' home, but she was not helpful, and as Flynn and Provenza went back to the car, Flynn said, "Did you get the impression she knew more than she was letting on?"

"Don't they always?" Provenza replied. "We may need to start checking flights out of LAX."

"Yeah, for Mac Freeman, too," Flynn agreed, and texted the information to Raydor.

"Sykes is here," she returned by text. "I'll get her on that ASAP."

"Sykes came in this morning," Flynn said without enthusiasm.

Provenza harrumphed. "Of course she did. Miss Perky Kiss-Up isn't about to miss an opportunity to make the rest of us look bad. Especially you."

"Which would, you know, be understandable if I'd ever given her any encouragement and then dumped her. But I didn't! EVER!" Flynn exclaimed.

"I know it. She let her hormones get ahead of her good sense."

"Or something. So, let's see if Silverman's neighbors heard or saw anything last night." That track also turned into a dead end, so both men were a little discouraged when they got back to the murder room.

"Good morning, lieutenants!" Sykes sang out as the entered the room.

"Put a sock in it, Detective," Provenza said. "It's a Saturday morning, we're working a murder, and I assure you, no one is in the mood for your Miss Mary Sunshine routine."

She actually looked a little hurt at Provenza's response, but Sanchez just grinned and nudged her with his elbow. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk.

Flynn sighed silently and went to his desk, too. He turned to Tao. "Hey Mike. Anything on the security footage?"

Tao shook his head. "Nah. Nothing really. For someone as concerned with security as Silverman, you'd think he would buy better equipment. The cameras were working, but it was so dark, you couldn't see anything. Julio, we'd better start on the road for Mac Freeman."

Sanchez sighed. "Come with us, Sykes. You never know. Maybe you can sweet talk that gorilla into being nice."

Sykes looked irritated, but Raydor, who was examining the murder board, turned and said, "I think that's an excellent idea. Three officers can't hurt."

* * *

Raydor, Flynn and Provenza were in the morgue with Morales. "Well, he died by strangulation, which I'm sure you figured out," the doctor began. "And he was very, very drunk when he died. Blood alcohol was .29."

"Easier to topple over," Provenza said.

"Without a struggle?" Flynn answered. "He was still aware enough to resist a little."

"Maybe," Morales replied. "But here's something strange. Your murderer started the process with his hands, and I'm saying it's a male based on the hand size, from the front. However, he completed the act with some kind of straight object, like a - a fireplace poker, or something of the kind. See these bruises and how they go across the neck in a straight line? Hands don't do that. The hyoid bone is also broken, and that, along with the positioning of the bruises, indicates to me that the murderer got behind our victim and finished the job."

"That's rage," Flynn said.

Morales nodded. "I'd say so. He was probably lying on a sofa or something, gasping for breath. Strangulation is such a _tactile_ way to kill someone. It's also a drawn-out, painful death. Shooting is generally instantaneous. The rage peaks, the person shoots and it's over. This kind of death, on the other hand, speaks of a long-standing anger." He shrugged. "But what do I know? I'm just the medical examiner, not a forensic psychologist."

Raydor smiled at him. "You may have missed your calling, doctor. Thank you for walking us through this, especially on a Saturday morning."

"You're welcome. It's overtime."

When they got back to the murder room, Sanchez, Sykes and Tao had returned with Mac Freeman. Tao had an ice pack over one eye and Sanchez held one to his jaw. Sykes was favoring her wrist.

"My God! What happened?" Raydor exclaimed.

"Well, Freeman is in interview two, cuffed to the table," Tao said. "After he took a swing at me and Sykes, and Sanchez, who flattened him."

"I had to slug him Captain. I'm sorry," Sanchez said. "But we had the medic look at him."

"Don't worry about it Julio," Raydor answered. "I'm sorry you all were injured. Lieutenant Flynn, shall we question Mr. Freeman?"

"Sure, Captain," Flynn replied and stood to go into the room with her.

They stood for a moment, looking through the window into the room, just to get a glance at their suspect. He looked like an aging rock star – or like a bad Bigfoot impersonator, as Flynn later said. He was big, hairy and obviously angry. He was the perfect murder suspect, which immediately made Flynn suspicious. It didn't come this easily in homicide – or only rarely.

When they walked inside, Sharon introduced herself.

"Get the cuffs off or I ain't sayin' nothin'," Freeman growled.

Flynn looked shrewdly at him. "O.K. We'll take the cuffs off," he said. At Raydor's fearful, outraged gasp, he held up a restraining hand, rose and taking his weapon out of the holster, held it against Freeman's skull. "Captain Raydor uncuffs you and I stand here with my gun at the base of your brain while she conducts the interview. You twitch and I blow you to hell. Deal?"

"That's dirty and you know it."

"So was beating the hell out of three of our detectives. If you'd just talked to them, you'd still be at your house, toking on whatever your ganja of choice is, or pickling your brain even more. But you had to be the tough guy, and I'm not watching you take my Captain apart because I just uncuffed you. You can't be trusted, so you can either stay cuffed and I go to the other side of the table, or I uncuff you and stand right here. Your choice." Flynn's tone was pleasant, but there was steel underneath it.

"You're a bastard, pig," Freeman spat.

"That the best you can do? Either one of my ex wives could top that without even trying."

"Take your dirty hands off me, pig."

Flynn smiled. "I'll take that to mean you're staying cuffed." He went back around the table and took a seat, holstering his Glock as he did. "But I'm not securing the holster, just in case you get any wild ideas."

In the electronics room, Tao and Sanchez were chuckling in spite of their injuries. "Trust Andy to get right to the point," Tao snickered.

"Yeah," Sanchez agreed with a laugh, then a wince as the movement hurt his jaw. "I should have tried that first."

Raydor was beginning her interview. "Now then, Mr. Freeman, we know that David Silverman called you about 2 a.m. He was found dead at 3:45 a.m. Did you go to his home?"

"Yeah. He was drunk and going on about getting the band back together. I wasn't interested. I left when he started crying," Freeman answered.

"Crying?" Raydor echoed.

"Yeah. He was either mean or sappy when he was drunk. This morning, it was sappy."

"So you did not fight with Mr. Silverman or harm him in any way."

Freeman rolled his eyes. "No way. When I left, Dog was crying and begging me not to go. Man, I've got my own problems. I don't need his, too."

"He was strangled, Mr. Freeman. A big man almost had to do it. You could have easily overpowered him."

Freeman sat back in his chair and looked at Raydor like she had gone insane. "Are you serious, lady? Really? He was so drunk that my five year old granddaughter could have knocked him down."

"You had motive. He was responsible for you losing quite a bit of money lately. People have killed for much less," Raydor answered.

"Yeah, but I'm not one of them. Dog is – well, was – a greedy dick, but he's damn sure not worth going to jail for."

"Any ideas on who might not feel the same way you do?" Flynn asked.

"Ask Toreador. Last I heard, the Dog had screwed around with Torres' girl, and he was pissed about it. I always said somebody was gonna kill him over a woman before they would over money."

"No kidding," Flynn replied. "Curly Mike said it was you or Torres."

Freeman harrumphed, "What a wuss. He's such a pantyboy now."

"He's sober. Hasn't been in trouble in over 10 years," Flynn said. "And he was man enough to make a play for my Captain right here in the interview room."

Freeman shrugged. "Whatever. But it wasn't me. I don't want anything to do with Dog or his dirty money. I got enough trouble."

"Well, that's certainly true," Raydor said. "Lieutenant Flynn, please get a couple of uniforms in here – or more – to escort Mr. Freeman to booking."

"Booking? What the hell for? I didn't kill Silverman!" Freeman yelled, straining at his cuffs.

Flynn rolled his eyes. "Maybe not, but you took off when our officers tried to question you. That's eluding, and hindering a murder investigation, and then you assaulted all three of them. You don't seriously think we're gonna let you waltz out of here after nearly breaking one detective's jaw, giving another one a black eye and wrenching the third's wrist, now do you? Get real, dude. I know your brain is pretty fried, but it can't be that fried."

"Asshole! Pig!" was the response.

"I'm tellin' you, you're gonna have to do better than that if you want to get under my skin. I'll have my second ex call you and give you some lessons on how to really insult me," Flynn said, grinning.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, yeah. Strictly bush league," Flynn replied. "You sit tight in here and I'll get some people to walk you down to booking."

Freeman tried to lift the table up, but it was bolted to the floor, so all he could do was scream and curse. Raydor beat a hasty retreat out of the room, with Flynn behind her. Flynn picked up his phone. "Hey, booking? Send up about five of the biggest blues you've got down there. We've got a hostile perp to send your way. Bring a head bag, too. He's a spitter."

The crew watched the uniforms haul Freeman away, screaming and cursing.

"Glad he's got the net over his head," Flynn said.

"For real," Sanchez agreed.

Once the murder room was quiet again, Raydor turned to her squad. "So now, we look for Keith Torres. Andy, you looked at his record. Any connections in Mexico?"

Flynn turned to his computer and pulled up Torres' records. "Yeah, he does. Looks like a sister still there. I'll call border patrol and see if they've seen him. She lives in Rosarito. Julio, you want to call the policia down there and ask if they can keep an eye out for him?"

"Sure, Lieutenant."

"Captain, we'll probably want some eyes on Torres' house, just in case he comes back there," Flynn said.

She nodded. "I think you're right. You can go back with Lieutenant Provenza and watch the house for a while, anyway."

Flynn stood and stretched. "Let's go, Provenza."

Provenza sighed heavily as he stood. "I am getting too damn old for this," he groused.

"We're all getting too old for it," Flynn answered.

* * *

The street outside Torres' home was quiet and both lieutenants were starting to have their doubts that their suspect was going to turn up at his residence any time soon.

"It's been three hours," Provenza said. "That doughnut was a long time ago."

Flynn gestured to the glove compartment. "Protein bars. Better than nothing."

Provenza reached into the compartment and extracted a snack. "How in the hell did I get stuck with a partner who is dedicated to living a healthy lifestyle? Any self-respecting cop would at least have a box of Pop-Tarts or a bag of Cheetos – something!"

Flynn chuckled. "Eat the protein bar, assuming your system doesn't shut down at the faintest trace of something healthy getting into it, that is."

"You never know," Provenza said darkly.

Flynn pointed to the corner of Torres' house. "What's that?"

Provenza peered at the spot and then looked through his binoculars. "I believe that would be our suspect, one Keith Torres."

"Let's go get him," Flynn answered, adjusting his body armor and slipping his windbreaker over it.

"By all means. Maybe we can actually get back to bed before midnight."

"That would be nice."

They went to the front door and were once again met by Torres' housekeeper. "I told you once. Mr. Torres not here!" she spat.

"Look, ma'am. We know he's here," Flynn answered. "We watched him walk in the back door. Let us in or we come back with a warrant and you get arrested and charged with hindering a murder investigation. You don't really want to get on the books where INS can find you, do you?"

"_El autobus grande blanco_?" Provenza said, referring to the big white bus most often used by Immigration for a round-up.

The woman's face went pale, then she glowered at them and stood to one side. "Evil men," she muttered.

"That's us," Provenza said. "Mr. Torres!" he called out. "LAPD! We need to speak with you, please!"

A moment or two passed, then a man appeared from the kitchen. He was taller than Curillo, but not as big as Mac Freeman. He looked unkempt. His hair was shaggy, he was unshaven, his eyes were red-rimmed.

"What do you guys want?" he asked.

"Just to ask you a couple of questions," Flynn replied. "Were you at David Silverman's house after 3 a.m. this morning?"

"He called me."

Flynn smiled. "I didn't ask you that. I knew that already. I asked you if you went over there."

"None of your business," Torres said.

"It is our business, since Mr. Silverman was found dead in his home this morning, and you are on the list of suspects." Flynn's tone was pleasant.

Torres rolled his eyes. "Ask Mac Freeman or Mike Curillo."

"Funny you should say that. They both said we needed to ask _you_," Provenza said.

"Yeah, good old Free Bird is a jerk and a cokehead, but he didn't kill Silverman," Flynn put in.

"Neither did I," Torres answered.

Flynn shrugged. "O.K. You didn't, Curly Mike didn't, Free Bird didn't, so who did, do you think?"

"Hell if I know. I know it wasn't me."

"You never did say if you went over there after he called you, though," Provenza said.

"No, I didn't."

Flynn shook his head. "Look, Mr. Torres. You can either clear this up right now, or we're gonna have to continue this downtown. It's your choice."

"Go to hell. I don't have to talk to you."

"No, but innocent people usually do. That tells me something. Doesn't it tell you something, Flynn?"

He nodded. "Definitely." He took out his cuffs. "Keith Torres, you're under arrest for the murder of David Silverman. You have the right to remain silent..." and he finished the Miranda statement as he cuffed Torres.

"You're making a mistake," was all he said on the ride to the station.

In the murder room, Torres immediately invoked his right to an attorney and Raydor had to stop questioning him. "He knows what happened," she said as she stood in the electronics room, watching him.

"Yeah," Flynn agreed. "Mac Freeman said something about Silverman messing around with Torres' girlfriend. Maybe we need to pick her up. See if she'll roll on Torres."

"Good idea," Raydor responded. "I hate to ask, but since we've got three detectives nursing combat injuries, can you and Provenza pick her up? Tao got the name from someone at the crime scene."

"Sure, Captain," Flynn answered. "One more time, Provenza," he said.

"No kidding."

* * *

Neither Flynn nor Provenza were surprised to find that Janelle Thompson, Torres' girlfriend, was several years younger than he, or that she had a history of dating slightly older musicians. Flynn watched her from the electronics room. She was a typical California blonde with a killer body and a pretty face. Still, Flynn could see the results of her lifestyle starting to show up in her face. He could see the lines and dark circles beginning to appear.

"Ms. Thompson, thank you for agreeing to talk with us. We do appreciate it," Raydor began.

"Like I had a choice, with two cops walking me to their car," she replied, sullen.

Raydor smiled. "In any event, we're glad to get the opportunity to speak with you. We have your significant other, Keith Torres, in custody for murdering David Silverman. He refuses to speak with us, so we're hoping you can shed some light on what happened."

Clearly, this was news to the woman. "You arrested Keith? He didn't do it!" she exclaimed.

"No? Well, enlighten us then. We're looking for the truth. And really, the circumstantial evidence that your boyfriend killed Mr. Silverman is piling up."

"Well, it wasn't Keith."

Raydor and Provenza looked at each other. "Our victim didn't choke himself to death, so, unless there was an evil spirit in his house, another human killed him. Your boyfriend looks like the ideal suspect. So if you know anything, now's the time to tell us," Provenza said.

"He didn't do it," she insisted.

"How do you know?" Provenza asked. "Were you there when it happened?"

"Um, no. No. I wasn't there. Why would I be there?"

"That may be the $64,000 question. Look. Here's the deal: you can talk to us now, and we can maybe get all this straightened out, or you can wait until your boyfriend is on trial for capital murder, and then you can tell it to a judge, under oath." Provenza's voice was reasonable.

"Well, David Silverman? Yeah, he was a pig, and um, like, he deserved whatever he got!" she said.

"I thought you were sleeping with him," Raydor said.

"That was only a fling. You know. And besides, he said he knew people who would like to put me in videos. So I said, well, you know, I'm not the first to sleep with a guy for what he can do for me. So I did. But all he wanted was the sex. He doesn't know anyone who could help me. Jerk."

In electronics, Andy shook his head. "The only future she's got in videos is in the porn industry. And everybody knows it but her." Tao nodded his agreement.

"So why are you talking to me, anyway?" Janelle asked.

"Because you might know something we don't. And I'm beginning to think you know a whole lot about what happened at that house last night," Provenza said.

"I believe you're correct, Lieutenant," Raydor agreed. "Ms. Thompson, a capital murder case carries with it the possibility of the death penalty. If you know something that could exonerate your boyfriend, don't you think you owe it to him to tell us?"

The woman looked nervously at Raydor and Provenza, and Raydor was sure she was about to talk, but then she said, "I want a deal."

Both officers were taken aback. "A deal? What kind of deal? You haven't even told us anything, yet!" Provenza said.

"I need a deal first," she persisted.

"Well, _first_, we need to know if what you have to say is worth making a deal over," Provenza answered.

"It is," Janelle answered coolly.

Provenza and Raydor exchanged glances. "All right," Raydor said, "I'll call in an assistant district attorney, you tell him or her your story, and then the ADA can decide whether it merits a deal or not."

"That sounds good," she replied.

"Fair enough. Lieutenant, would you be good enough to call the DA's office and see who can get here on short notice?"

"Will do," Provenza answered and left the room.

Raydor gave Janelle a long stare. "Just so you know, Ms. Thompson: my patience with you is growing short. I suggest the information you give to the ADA be something we can use."

Janelle paled a bit, but said, "It will be."

When Raydor, Provenza and ADA Matthews reconvened in the interview room, Matthews said, "Now then, Ms. Thompson. Tell me what you wouldn't tell the police."

"Deal first. Then I'll tell."

Matthews raised an eyebrow. As a former defense attorney, he knew she was starting to get desperate. "Ms. Thompson, here's the only deal you're going to get from me at this point. Either tell me what you want me to know, or I will see that you're charged with capital murder, as well. How's that for a deal?"

"You can't do that!" she spluttered.

"I surely can. So you need to start talking. Like, now." His tone brooked no argument.

"Well, see, when David called Keith, we went over there and got there a little after 3 a.m. David and Keith started arguing and David made a call, but he hung up. Then they really started yelling and Keith pushed David down on the sofa and started choking him."

"What was the fight about?" Matthews asked.

Janelle actually had the gall to look pleased as she said, "Me, mostly. And the money David owed Keith. But mostly me. Me and David had this little thing going for a while and Keith was really pissed about it. But I was totally pissed at David because he told me he was gonna introduce me to producers who do music videos and he didn't."

"No?" Matthews prompted.

"No. He just introduced me to these pigs who were just like him who wanted me to do porn videos. And screw them, too. But they weren't even offering porn level pay!" she exclaimed.

Tao and Flynn looked at each other in electronics. "I knew it," Flynn said.

"So what did you do?" the ADA asked Janelle.

"Well, David was on the sofa, and he was trying to get his breath after Keith let go of him, and I decided I wanted to make him suffer a little more. So I got his tennis racquet and got behind him to choke him a little more," she explained. "Keith had already gone to the car."

"And then?" from Matthews.

"And then, well, I heard a 'crack' and David went limp. So I thought, 'Oh shit, I killed him,' and then I ran and got Keith and we pulled his body off the sofa and got the money from his wallet so it would look like somebody broke in. But it was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted him to _think_ I was gonna kill him." Her smile was disgustingly bright. "So now you know Keith didn't kill him and I want my deal."

Matthews sat back in his chair, appalled. "No, Mr. Torres didn't kill David Silverman. But you did. And it's still a homicide. Captain, can I speak with you outside?"

"Certainly," she answered and they went into the hall.

"Captain, there's no doubt that Janelle Thompson is a complete idiot. Now, she acted with complete, reckless disregard for human life, and I can charge her with that, and with voluntary manslaughter. As much as it pains me to say it though, I don't think she intended to actually kill David Silverman. She was just being an imbecile. You have to prove intent with murder, even in the second-degree, and I just think that would be reaching. Voluntary manslaughter and reckless endangerment, though? Slam dunk."

"What about Torres?"

Matthews shrugged. "Aggravated assault. And leaving that woman in the house with Silverman could be construed as reckless endangerment, too," Matthews laughed, but it was dry laughter.

"No question," Raydor agreed. She motioned him back to the interview room.

"Ms. Thompson, I am not going to charge you with murder," Matthews said.

"Awesome!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not finished. I will not charge you with second-degree murder _if_ you will sign a guilty plea for voluntary manslaughter and reckless endangerment. I'll recommend ten years in prison."

"Ten years! Are you kidding me?" she yelled.

"No. And it's the best deal you'll get anywhere. A jury might or might not believe you didn't intend to kill Silverman. I believe you didn't, so I'm offering you a very, very good deal."

"I want to talk to an attorney of my own," she said.

Raydor looked at Matthews. "Mr. Torres has his public defender in the room. Go talk to him about your deal for him and then the attorney can come see Ms. Thompson."

"Sounds like a plan," Matthews said.

An hour or so later, ADA Matthews walked out of the interview room with Janelle Thompson and handed Raydor a sheaf of papers. "Guilty to voluntary manslaughter and reckless endangerment, ten years. Torres: guilty of aggravated assault, two years. A good day's work for the LAPD, the DA's office and the taxpayers of Los Angeles," he said in satisfaction.

"I like these 36-hour cases, myself," Raydor answered. She went into the murder room and brought the crew up to speed. "We can all now go home, and lick our wounds," she said, ignoring Andy's wicked grin, which he hid from the rest of the squad. "God willing, we won't be back in here before Monday morning at the earliest. Get some rest, all of you, and excellent work. Thank you." She went into her office.

Andy sent her a text, "Dinner, then race you to my place," with a smiley face.

She replied, "Dinner, and then I'm going back to bed. To sleep. Join me or not." Andy grinned when he saw the text. Any night spent with Sharon was a good night.


	16. Chapter 16: Break Point

**A/N: **Thanks so much for all the reviews and follows up until now! The story continues. Just a reminder: if anyone has any suggestions concerning plot points, etc., feel free to IM me! Enjoy and please R&R!**  
**

_Disclaimer: I do not own or operate "Major Crimes."_

**Chapter 16: Break Point**

Sharon was in the grocery store, clucking her tongue over the price of milk. Rusty was looking at magazines. As Sharon picked up a package of sliced turkey and rolled her eyes at how small it was, she thought she heard someone speak to her. "Yes?" she said, turning around. No one was there. That was odd. Maybe it was someone talking in the next aisle. She shrugged and went to get a large carton of eggs. With a teenager in the house, she bought two dozen at a time. She'd forgotten how much boys that age could eat.

"Help me!" came a voice – distinct this time. Sharon looked around once more. Between the grocery shelves was a set of double doors that led to the back. The light was dim behind the doors, but Sharon could just make out a figure. A face appeared in the crack of the doors. "For God's sake, please help me!" It was a woman. Sharon's eyes widened and she slipped through the doors.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Can you call the cops for me?" the woman said.

"I _am_ a police officer," Sharon answered. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's my boyfriend. I left him," the woman replied, and then sagged against the wall. Sharon caught her and helped her into a chair in the employee breakroom.

In the brighter light, Sharon could see the woman's face. Both eyes were black, her lip was cut and swollen; blood still oozed from it. And she was filthy. Sharon looked down. The woman's feet were bare, and cut from running across pavement, gravel, glass, who knows what.

"He hid my shoes," she said softly.

"My name is Sharon. What's your name?"

"Vickie."

"O.K. Vickie. I'm going to get you some help, all right?"

"Don't let him find me! He'll kill both of us!" Vickie exclaimed.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Sharon said grimly. She sent a rapid text to Rusty.

He looked at his phone and said, "She's nuts. Why the hell does she want me to come to the back of the store?" Still, Sharon rarely did anything without a good reason, so he trotted back to the doors. Sharon was waiting for him. She took him back to the breakroom.

"Rusty, this is Vickie. She needs help. I'm going to the car for my gun and badge. Stay with her, please."

"Sure, Sharon." Rusty looked her over. He was appalled, but not surprised. He'd seen his mom look nearly this bad, not to mention hookers of both sexes on the street. "I'm Rusty. I live with Sharon. She's like my foster mom. Can I get you some water? Or a soda?"

Vickie nodded. "A Coke, please? I don't remember the last time I had one."

"Yeah, sure." He went to the machine and got the drink for her. He handed it to her.

"Thank you. Gosh, the can is so cold. It feels good." She tried to open the can, but couldn't manage it. She was too weak. Rusty opened it for her. She nodded her thanks and sipped the cola. "I don't know what to do. Kurt has an awful lot of guns."

Rusty decided this was information Sharon needed, so he texted her. She was on her way back inside the store when she read it. "Damn," she muttered.

She got back to the back room and said, "Vickie, Rusty said your boyfriend has guns. What kind?"

"All kinds. One like that guy who shot all the kids. He's crazy. He was fine until he lost a bunch of weight and started going to the gym. He's on steroids. He took them for like, three months, and now, he's just psycho."

"I've got two units on the way. Have you ever called the police about him before?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Twice. Like an idiot, I went back to him. I paid for it, too. I'm surprised he didn't kill me then. But you don't want him looking for me here. He could hurt somebody."

"Did you talk to a detective?" Sharon asked.

"Yeah. A woman named Turner, I think."

"Thank you." Sharon called dispatch and asked for the detective. She got the officer's cell phone number. She went outside the room, called the detective and explained the situation.

"Oh, my God," Turner said. "I knew this was going to happen. One of _those_ cases, you know? Vickie's right. Kurt Davis is nuts. Totally. She says it's roid rage, but he has a history of domestics. But, same old story: none of them wanted to prosecute."

"What are your thoughts on how to handle this situation, Detective Turner?"

"Well, Captain, like I said. Kurt is crazy. I'd honestly lock down the store and parking lot. I wouldn't put it past him to start shooting anyone he saw to get through. I've been to that house. I've seen his arsenal. Scary. I'll be there ASAP, but I'd really button that place up now."

"Good advice. Thank you, Detective," Sharon answered and hung up. She sighed and called Taylor. "Chief Taylor, we have a possible situation brewing at Coolidge's Supermarket on Sepulveda. A woman has escaped from her violent boyfriend. She's in very bad physical shape, but she also says the man has assault rifles, and this is where they routinely shop, so he may look for her here. I spoke with Detective Pam Turner, who has worked with our victim, and she says the boyfriend is dangerous, with several domestics to his name. She recommended we lock down the store and set up a perimeter in the parking lot."

"Understood Captain, but how in the world did you get involved in a domestic violence case?" Taylor asked.

"I was shopping and she called to me from the back. She asked me if I could call the police for her. Now this," Sharon answered.

"I see. Well, at the minimum, obviously get an ambulance for our victim and at least five black and whites. Two for the store and three for the parking lot. Roll out your squad too, since you're on the scene. I'll be there shortly."

"Thank you, Chief," she answered, and called Provenza. "Lieutenant, I know we've had a week, but something has come up. Please call the squad in to meet at Coolidge's Supermarket on Sepulveda. And Lieutenant, make sure you stress that everyone is to be there with their vests on. We may have a serious domestic violence case to contend with."

"Will do, Captain. I'm at Flynn's watching football, so I'll tell him now, and we'll call the others."

"Thank you Lieutenant. Time is of the essence. We don't know where the boyfriend is, right now, and I'm putting the store on lockdown."

"Understood, Captain," Provenza answered and clicked off the call. He turned to Andy. "C'mon. Some nut of a boyfriend after his woman."

"Great," was Andy's reply.

* * *

Sharon was speaking to a group of angry customers at the store. "Look, we have you here for your protection. If our assailant gets to this store, he could have an assault rifle with him, with lots of ammunition, and we all know what nuts with assault rifles can do. I hope we won't have to keep you here very long. As soon as our suspect is in custody, or we know where he is and have him contained, we will release the lockdown."

"Look lady!" one woman yelled. "My babysitter charges by the hour! Every hour she's there is costing me a lot of money!"

Sharon nodded. "I understand, but this is to make sure your children will have their mom come home in one piece. Please call anyone you need to call – except the media. And also do not put this on any social media. We really do not need to have this picked up by the media at this point. We don't need to tip this guy off any sooner than necessary." She heard sirens with a feeling of intense relief. Officers in full body armor got out of their cruisers and started sealing off the parking lot. The Major Crimes crew came into the store and, Sharon was glad to see, every one of them had their vests on. Normally, trying to get Andy and Provenza to wear the vests was like pulling teeth.

She pulled them aside. "All right. We haven't seen anything of him so far, but you all have the suspect's DMV photo Detective Turner texted you?" They all nodded. "Fine. Lieutenant Provenza and Lieutenant Flynn, please coordinate with the officers in establishing a perimeter. Detective Turner, who has worked this case with DV, will accompany our victim to the hospital. She's back in the break rooom with her, now. Lieutenant Tao, I'd like you to stay in here, to help me keep this crowd in check. They are not happy. Detective Sanchez, you and Detective Sykes roam the parking lot and report anything suspicious you see. Our victim is reasonably sure our suspect will come here to look for her. She's been here before to get away from him. So let's keep our eyes open."

A chorus of assent followed and as Andy and Provenza walked outside to talk to the officers on the perimeter, Andy said, "I never got so drunk that I ever touched either of my wives. This isn't roid rage. This is asshole rage."

"You got that right," his partner agreed.

The ambulance arrived and the EMTs got Vickie on a stretcher. They were putting her into the ambulance when a man appeared from an alley between two buildings. "I knew this is where you'd be, bitch!" he yelled. "Get over here or I'm shooting this place up!" Kurt Davis screamed. He stepped out of the shadows. He was armed to the teeth.

"Let me go. He's not kidding," Vickie pled with the EMTs. But they had her stretcher in the ambulance, so they pushed it inside, along with Detective Turner, and shut the doors before Davis could fire a round.

Sanchez was close enough to see what was going on, and radioed the team. "Davis must have sneaked in through the vacant lot in the back," he said. "He's heavily armed. I count two assault rifles, possibly TEK-nines, at least two large handguns and a crapload of ammo. Body armor. Only available kill shot is to the head."

Sharon grimaced at that news. "I'd prefer to bring him in alive, if possible, but you have authorization to take him out if he presents an imminent threat."

The sound of gunfire startled Sharon and she screamed into the radio. "Julio! Come in! Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Captain. He sprayed the ambulance with a bunch of rounds, but EMS sent the one they use for gang shootings. It's armor plated and has bulletproof glass. They're fine. Oh man! The driver must have crawled through to the front seat. He's haulin' outta here."

Sharon looked through the front window to see the ambulance screaming toward the parking lot exit. The driver had every siren and light on, and must have had the accelerator flat to the floor. He was also weaving, in order to make it more difficult for Davis to hit the vehicle. Officers scrambled to stop traffic to give the ambulance clear passage, and Sharon could have sworn they took the right turn out of the lot on two wheels.

"Are you in postition to take a shot?" she asked Sanchez.

"Not yet, Ma'am. Close, though. I think I can tackle him from behind."

"_Only_ if you're safe doing it, Julio. Otherwise, see if you can disable him in some way."

"Yes ma'am, but I'm going to have to do something. Now the ambulance is gone, he's swinging his weapons around, looking for a target."

"Don't you be that target, do you hear me?"

"I'll do my best, Ma'am."

Sykes radioed Sanchez, "Julio. I'm over here about three rows over, behind the red Dodge truck. I may have a clear head shot."

"I'm behind him, and I don't think he knows I'm back here. Captain wants him alive."

"Got you covered," Sykes replied.

Sanchez ducked into a narrow doorway as the gunman turned. Seeing no one, he started shooting the windows out of other stores in the complex, setting off their burglar alarms. Sanchez avoided the flying glass and while Davis stood, looking around for someone to shoot, Julio ran into him from behind at full tilt, sending both men sprawling. Sanchez quickly disarmed Davis, one knee at the base of his neck which, on top of all his body armor, caused the gunman to gasp for air.

"Stop resisting!" Sanchez yelled. "I said, stop resisting, you piece of garbage!"

Sykes and Flynn came running to the scene, Provenza at a half-jog well behind them. Sykes kicked the assault weapon out of the way and Flynn helped Sanchez cuff Davis and they hauled him to his feet. "Suspect in custody, scene secured," Sykes radioed to Raydor.

"Thank you Detective. Let's get him to the station," she replied.

A steady stream of obscenities filled the air as Davis cursed his girlfriend, law enforcement and life in general. As they dragged him to a police car, Flynn, weary of the diatribe, smacked the back of the suspect's head. "You have the right to remain silent. Use it, why don't you?"

"If I didn't have these cuffs on me, you wouldn't do that, asshole! I'd show you what I could do!"

"Yeah, yeah. You weren't cuffed and you were armed with an assault rifle and handguns, and Detective Sanchez still field tackled you like you were a high school rookie. You're nothin' but a pumped up little shithead. So shut up, all right?"

Sykes had to smile, in spite of herself. One of the things she liked about Andy was his acid tongue. He loved it when a suspect came in all full of himself. He enjoyed taking them down a notch or two.

Provenza strolled into the supermarket and found Raydor at the service desk, speaking with the manager. "Captain, I think we can tell all these nice people they can go home now. Our little lunatic is safely in a patrol car."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She turned to the manager. "I'm releasing the scene. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I hope you understand why we did it this way."

The manager shuddered. "I sure can. Thanks, Captain. I'm glad the LAPD was on top of it. What if that nut had gotten in this store?"

"I don't want to think about it," Raydor answered. "But he didn't, so your customers can check out or whatever. We'll have tape around the areas of broken glass on the sidewalk."

Chief Taylor chose that moment to make his appearance. "Captain, can you give me a status report?"

"Certainly. The gunman is in custody. No injuries. He just shot out some windows. The store owners will need to be notified. That's in your purview, I believe," she answered.

"I suppose it is," he said, looking irritated. "Good job on getting the scene secured so quickly."

"Thank you. Detective Sykes tells me our suspect has invoked his right to counsel, so I think I'll just allow him to stew the rest of the weekend. We've got enough now to hold him. I need to get to the hospital to check on our victim. Have a pleasant day, Chief Taylor," she replied. "Come on, Rusty. Let's get these groceries home and then I need to go to the ER."

"O.K., Sharon. Catch you later, Chief," he said, waving to Taylor, and pushing the cart of groceries in Sharon's wake.

Taylor couldn't quite figure out how, but he knew that he had been dismissed as unnecessary. It annoyed him.

* * *

As they put groceries away, Rusty said, "Hey Sharon, Derek and I are still working out those opening chess gambits. Can he come over for dinner and maybe spend the night?"

Sharon paused. "Of course. Dinner might be a little late, though. All depends on how long I'm at the hospital. I can just give you cash for a pizza."

He grinned. "Remember? Derek's dad manages a pizza place. He said he'd bring dinner. Even a veggie pizza if Andy wants to eat with us."

Sharon turned to face Rusty and smiled. "That's very considerate of you to think of Andy, in case he wanted to be here. I really appreciate it and I know he will too."

"You're welcome. Really, you know, Andy's always been cool to me. Even when he was yelling at me, he was never mean to me."

"I wouldn't allow him through the front door if he had been," she replied.

Rusty leaned with his elbows on the kitchen counter. "So, are you two gonna make this like, permanent?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "My goodness, Rusty! We've only been dating a few weeks! We haven't made any decisions. If we do, I promise that you will be the first to know."

"O.K.." he answered, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Sharon chose to ignore it.

* * *

Sharon waited with Detective Pam Turner as the doctor finished his assessment of Vickie Miller. He stepped outside her room and shook his head. "As long as I've been in practice, I've never understood what drives someone to torture another human being. So here's the rundown. She has four previously fractured ribs – probably from being kicked. She also has old fractures in her wrists and elbows, and her jaw has been broken at least once on each side, plus two old skull fractures. She's damn lucky to be here. Currently, she has numerous contusions and lacerations, which you saw, her feet are cut to ribbons, so we gave her a tetanus shot and a shot of antibiotics. Plus, she has a severe bladder infection. She said he wouldn't allow her to urinate regularly. She's also dehydrated and probably hasn't had a real meal in a week or more. She said the only thing he allowed her to eat was plain oatmeal and bologna. Said he needed all the good food in order to build up more at the gym. The English language simply doesn't have an epithet foul enough for creatures like that." His face was twisted in disgust.

"No it doesn't, doctor," Sharon agreed. "Detective Turner, since you two have an established relationship, I think you should do the interview. I'd like to observe, if you don't mind, but if you'd rather I didn't, I can go on."

"You're welcome to observe, Captain. Please do," Turner answered.

"Thank you." Sharon followed Turner into the room.

"Hey, Vickie. How are you?" Turner asked.

"O.K., I guess. How long before Kurt is released, do you think?"

"He won't be, Vickie. We've got him on a dozen charges that have nothing to do with the domestic violence. Assault on police officers, shooting into occupied buildings – you name it, we've got him on it. Believe me – he's not not going anywhere." Turner tried to reassure her victim.

"That's good. Because he'd kill me, Pam. This time, he'd kill me for real. I'm telling you. He would. He already told me that if I called the cops again, or tried to get away, he would kill me this time. He wanted me dead. I think it was some kind of power trip he was on. But he wanted an excuse to kill me."

Sharon chewed on her lower lip. This man was a complete lunatic. She was reasonably certain he was competent to stand trial, but he had no business seeing the outside world again.

"Look, Vickie," Pam said. "We want Kurt off the streets for good. And to make that happen, you've got to give me a full statement. We know what he did. The doctor told us about your old injuries. There's no reason not to just tell me everything. And your statement will keep him in jail for a long, long time."

Vickie raised a fragile, bruised hand to her swollen lip. She looked over at the IV drip, pumping fluids, antibiotics and nutrition into her veins. She sighed. "Yeah. O.K. If only to keep him from doing this to another woman." She started talking and Pam turned on her mini recorder and started writing on a legal pad. An hour later, she was finished. Sharon had hardly said a word, but Vickie's recitation of Kurt Davis' horrific physical, verbal and emotional abuse had her shaking with rage. She wanted to go to the jail, drag him out of his cell and work him over with a baseball bat. Andy would probably help her, she thought ruefully. Suddenly, she understood a little more of what drove her lieutenant to do some of the things he did. If she, with her famously cool head and steady temperament, could want to actively brutalize Kurt Davis, how much more would Andy feel it, with his strong sense of justice and retribution, to say nothing of his fiery, chancy temper? And he'd been dealing with this kind of thing for over 20 years. It was a wonder his personnel file didn't have more charges in it than it did.

"Vickie, thank you so much for being willing to talk with us today. Get some rest and your mother will be here shortly. I know Detective Turner called her. She said she would be glad to take you home with her when you've recovered."

"Thank you for calling my mom. I've been so tired for so long..." her voice trailed off and her eyes closed.

Sharon nodded at Pam and they left the room. "If I could get my hands on him for one minute," Pam said.

"I was thinking the same thing. Only I was envisioning doing it with a baseball bat," Sharon answered.

Pam chuckled. "I like the way you think, Captain. But this is a victory. Vickie's alive and she will recover. We got her abuser and enough charges on him to put him under the jail. And he didn't hurt anyone else in the process. We got a huge win today. I have to thank your squad. They're rock stars. Is that Detective Sanchez afraid of anything?"

Sharon grinned. "Not that I've seen yet. He's completely fearless. Sweetest man in the world, until something like this happens. Then he's a machine. If it means we get the bad guy, he'll go through hell itself to make it happen."

"Every squad needs one of those. I mean, you know, everybody talks about the Major Crimes crew, but this is the first time I've seen them in action. Wow. They do great work. Everybody just got on with the job."

"Well, they've been working with essentially the same people since about 2005. Couple of changes, but not many. They're very close-knit."

Pam smiled at her. "I know it wasn't easy coming in after Chief Johnson. She really had their loyalty."

Sharon nodded. "She did. And no, it wasn't always easy, but now that I understand them and their perspectives more, and I understand why they've done some of the things they did, it's helped. And I think they understand me more, so we're working it out."

"That's great. So tell me: how do you keep your hands off Andy Flynn? Every woman of a certain age, and some not of that age, have been after him for years. He's winked at me a couple of times, and jeez! Made me melt! I don't know if I could stand having him in the squad room every day. Such a sharp dresser, too. He always looks great."

"Well, you just have to keep it professional," Sharon answered, but she couldn't keep the twinkle out of her eyes.

Pam saw it, but figured it wasn't any of her business if Raydor and her hot lieutenant were keeping company on the side. Everybody needed a little companionship, and God knew it was hard enough to find someone who understood the life of a cop. "No doubt," she answered.

"Would you like to question Davis?" Sharon asked Pam.

"Love to, but I won't get the chance. Every time he's been arrested, he's lawyered up before he gets to the station. I'm not expecting him to be any different this time. Only this time, he's not getting out in 12 hours. Thank God."

"Indeed. Well, I'll be going then. I think I've done all I can here."

"Hey, listen Captain. Thanks so much for your help and thank your squad, too. They really kept it under control this afternoon."

Sharon smiled at the detective. "You're very welcome. I'm just glad I was there. If you need me, by all means call."

"Will do. Thanks again."

Sharon took her cell out and sent Andy a text. "Dinner? Seven? My place?"

A pause, then, "Thought you'd never ask. I'll be there."

Sharon sighed happily. She just needed to be around Andy tonight.

* * *

When Andy arrived at Sharon's, he could hear an animated conversation through the door. Sounded like Rusty was home. No big deal. Sharon answered his knock. "Hi. Come on in."

"Sounds like you've got a young war going on in there," he said with a grin.

"It's just Rusty and Derek debating some chess move." She rolled her eyes.

Andy chuckled. "Hey. Whatever works. Something smells good."

"It's pizza. Derek's dad manages a pizza place and he brought dinner."

"That was nice."

"It was. Rusty even made sure we got a vegetarian pizza in case you came over."

Andy's smile was pleased. "That was really nice of him. I'll remember to tell him how much I appreciate it."

They went into the living room and collapsed on the sofa. "Some afternoon, huh, babe?" Andy said.

"Tell me about it. I could do without these kinds of afternoons," Sharon answered tiredly.

"So how's the vic?"

She shrugged. "So-so. The doctor said she'd be there for several days. She has some fairly severe issues. They had her on IV fluids, antibiotics and nutrition. She said the only thing that jerk allowed her to eat was plain oatmeal and bolonga sandwiches. Sometimes. The doctor said she was malnourished. Her feet were a mess. Can you believe he hid her shoes to keep her from running away?" She was getting angry all over again.

Andy put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Shhh. It's all right now. She's safe, and we got the creep. He won't be going anywhere."

"I know. I just..." her voice trailed off.

He put his cheek against her hair. "Been there."

Rusty and Derek chose that moment to come into the room. "Ooops. Sorry, Sharon," Rusty said.

She looked up. "It's fine. Rough afternoon. Derek, this is Andy Flynn. Andy, Derek Porter."

"Nice to meet you Derek," Andy said.

"You too, um, Mr. Flynn."

"Call me Flynn. Everybody does. Well, everybody but Sharon." He smiled. "I hear you brought pizza for dinner. Sounds great. Thanks for having my back on that veggie pizza, Rusty. I appreciate it."

"Sure. You're welcome," Rusty answered.

"I think I'm ready to eat. How about you, Andy?"

"Yeah. Very ready."

Rusty set the table and as they served themselves, Derek observed the two adults. "So, um, Flynn. You and the Captain work together?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We caught a bad case this afternoon. Did Rusty tell you?"

"Yes sir. That's whack. I mean, that crazy dude was gonna shoot up the place because his girlfriend ran off after he beat the crap out of her? That's unreal."

"Happens a lot more often than you realize, unfortunately," Andy answered.

"But it's cool being a cop. You get to put the bad guys in jail," Derek said.

"That's always our goal," Sharon replied. "Sometimes we get lucky. Today we did."

After dinner, Andy turned to Sharon. "You want to go for a short drive? Out to Malibu and back, maybe? Nothing too far out of the way."

"That sounds wonderful. Rusty, we won't be too late."

He and Derek were already once again absorbed in chess strategies and he answered, "Take your time. We'll be here."

* * *

In the car, Sharon leaned her head back. "I'm glad you thought of this. I needed to get away."

"Me too. You know, Rusty would gripe about it, but he could stay with Provenza for a weekend and we could get away. Just overnight. Maybe to San Diego or north to San Luis Obispo. I think we both need it."

"That sounds like a plan. I'll think about it," she answered.

Andy smiled as he started an Eagles CD on the player and they drove in silence for a long while. He found the turnoff he was looking for and pulled into a quiet parking space. This late, the partiers had gone home and the place was deserted. They got out and Andy looked in the trunk and got out a blanket. He and Sharon walked hand in hand down to the sand, where they spread the blanket out and sat down. For a time, they listened to the breakers and the surf crashing.

"Days like today are starting to get to me, Andy," Sharon said. "All that time in IA, and I didn't have to deal with the day-to-day _reality_ of what police officers do. I was insulated from it. I just dealt with the officers themselves, not with the victims, or the suspects – or not often, anyway."

Andy put his arms around Sharon and pulled her close to him. "These kinds of days get to all of us, babe," he answered. "When they don't, it's time to retire."

"How do you deal with it?"

"Not by getting drunk, that's for sure," he answered, but there was a smile in his voice. "You talk about it. You don't keep it inside. That's one way. You admit that it bothers you. But you also have to let it go. That's what I didn't do. I couldn't let Gracie Ann go. I wanted that woman to suffer like Gracie's parents suffered. But that's not my call to make. You have to let it go. God knows it isn't easy, but that's what you have to do."

"You always seem to know what I need to hear," Sharon replied softly.

He chuckled, low. "All these years in AA? Not much I haven't heard, so I've probably been there, myself."

"Undoubtedly," she answered. "Rusty dropped another of his bombshell questions on me this afternoon."

"What now?" Andy said, amused.

"He asked if we – that is, you and me – were going to make this permanent."

"Hmm. That is kind of a bombshell, isn't it? What did you tell him?"

"That if we made any decisions along those lines, he would be the first to know."

"Good answer."

"I thought so," she said.

"But we definitely need to spend more time together to see what we've got here," Andy replied.

"I agree. Never thought I'd say that, but I do," she said with a soft laugh.

"Yeah, I do sort of tend to rub people the wrong way. Especially females."

"I'd say you need to work on that, but I don't want any more women after you. I'm a little jealous."

Andy nuzzled in her hair. "Until me and ex number two separated, one thing no one could ever accuse me of was being unfaithful. I'm definitely a one-woman man. You're enough woman for me, Sharon. Maybe too much, sometimes." His voice was teasing.

"Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm," he replied, bringing her chin around so he could kiss her. She leaned into his kiss and returned it with obvious pleasure.

"Andy, your mouth is sinful," she murmured against his lips.

"I'll remember that," he replied, not stopping. Finally, they were lying down on the blanket, entwined in each other's arms, when Andy said, "We've got to get out of here. It's getting late and the last thing we need is for the Malibu P.D. to bust us for making out on the beach like a couple of horny teenagers."

Sharon sighed deeply and kissed Andy under his chin. "You're right." She reluctantly released him and sat up, smoothing her hair.

Andy gave her a hand up, and then folded the blanket and they walked back to the car. When they got back to Sharon's place, she said, "You're welcome to stay."

"I would, if it was just Rusty, but with his buddy here, I'd better not."

Sharon smiled. "I didn't even think about that. Just goes to show you what happens to my sense of propriety when you're around."

Andy gave her a wicked grin. "I'd love to talk more about that when we've got the opportunity and lots of uninterrupted – face time."

Andy Flynn had to be the only man on earth who could make Sharon Raydor blush. She did – right to her hairline. "Have I said you're impossible?"

"Not today. I must be doing pretty well."

"Well, for the record, you are. Impossible, I mean." She leaned over to kiss him again. "Good night, Andy."

"'Night, babe. Sweet dreams," he replied, sliding his hand up her thigh.

"Evil man. But they will be," she answered as she got out of the car.

As Andy drove home, he thought his life might finally be looking up.


End file.
